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.ESSAYS    ON 
GERMAN    LITERATURE 


HJALMAR    HJORTH    BOYESEN'S  WORKS. 


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ESSAYS    ON 
GERMAN    LITERATURE 


BY  f. 

HJALMAE  HJOKTH   BOYESEN 

FBOFESSOB    OF    THE    GERMANIC    LANGUAGB8_AND    LITERATURES    IN 
COLUMBIA   COLLEQB 


NEW  YORK 
CHAELES   SCKIBNER'S    SONS 

1892 


COPTBIGHT,  1892,  BY 
CHABLBS  SCRIBXEB'S  SONS 


TROW  DIRECTORY 

PRINTINQ  AND  BOOKBINDINQ  COMPANY 

NIW  YORK 


NOTE 

The  author  desires  to  acknowledge  his  indebted- 
ness to  Mr.  George  Barrie,  of  Philadelphia,  for 
permission  to  reprint,  in  a  revised  and  amplified 
form,  the  papers  entitled  "  The  Life  and  Works  of 
Goethe"  and  "The  Life  and  Works  of  Schiller," 
which  were  originally  written  as  introductions  to 
the  sumptuous,  illustrated  edition  de  luxe  of  the  two 
poets,  published  by  Mr.  Bai-rie. 


CONTENTS 

GOETHE 
L  The  Life  and  Wouks  of  Goethe,  . 
11.  Goethe  and  Caulyle 

III.  The  English  Estimate  op  Goethe, 

IV.  Some  English  Translations  of  Goethe, 
V.  Sermons  from  Goethe,    .... 

VI.  Goethe's  Relations  to  Women, 


PAGE 

3 

58 

85 

109 

129 

148 


SCHILLER 
VIL  The  Life  and  Works  of  Schiller,        .        .  177 

THE   GERMAN   NOVEL 
VIII.  The  Evolution  op  the  German  Novel,        .  213 
IX.  Studies  of  the  German  Novel,     .        .        .  240 
X.  "Carmen  Sylva," 264 

THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL   IN   GERMANY 

XI.  Social  Aspects   of   the   German   Romantic 

School, 281 

XII.  NovALis  and  the  Blue  Flower,    .        .         .  307 
XIII.  Literary  Aspects  of  the  Romantic  School,  332 


GOETHE 


THE  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF 
GOETHE 

IT  is  told  of  the  philosopher  Hegel  that  he  once 
complained  because  so  few  understood  his 
writings.  "Of  all  living  men,"  he  said,  "there  is 
but  one  who  has  understood  me ;  and,"  he  added, 
after  a  moment's  reflection,  "  he  misunderstood  me." 
The  common  judgment  of  a  man  who  spoke  thus 
would  be  that  he  was  himself  at  fault,  that  his  ut- 
terance was  needlessly  obscure,  since  it  failed  to 
appeal  to  ordinary  human  intelligence.  In  Hegel's 
case  such  a  judgment  would  not  have  been  far 
wrong.  German  philosophers,  as  a  rule,  cultivate 
involved  obscurity  of  diction,  and  perhaps  even  pride 
themselves  on  their  uniutelligibility. 

But  for  all  that  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  there  is 
a  region  of  thought  which  lies  beyond  the  range  of 
the  ordinary  intellect,  and  which  is  none  the  less  ex- 
alted and  beautiful  because  of  its  inaccessibility  to 
the  multitude.  The  fact  that  you  or  I  do  not  see 
anything  in  works  of  this  or  that  poet,  does  not,  of 
necessity,  prove  that  there  is  nothing  in  them.  That 
which  you  or  I  do  not  understand  is  not  on  that  ac- 


4  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

count  unintelligible.  If  the  second  part  of  "  Faust " 
fciils  to  convey  any  meaning  to  the  ordinary  omni- 
scient critic  of  the  daily  papers,  it  is  generally  sup- 
posed that  the  second  part  of  "  Faust "  stands  there- 
by condemned.  That  Goethe  has  opened  a  new 
realm  of  thought  to  which  even  a  college  degree  is 
not  necessarily  a  passport,  that  he  has  in  "  Faust " 
expounded  a  deep  philosophy  of  life,  for  the  com- 
prehension of  which  a  more  than  ordinary  large- 
ness of  vision  and  grasp  of  intellect  are  required,  is 
scarcely  dreamed  of  by  the  herd  of  shallow,  nimble- 
witted  critics  who  pat  him  kindly  on  the  shoulder 
and  compare  him  blandly  with  Byron,  Coleridge, 
and  Wordsworth. 

Of  English  wiiters  only  Carlyle  seems  to  have  had 
an  adequate  conception  of  Goethe's  greatness,  al- 
though he,  too,  was  certainly  at  variance  with  the 
fundamental  principles  which  underlay  his  hero's 
life  and  poetic  activity.  That  he  unconsciously  dis- 
torted the  meaning  of  "  Faust  "  is  very  obvious  to 
any  student  of  Goethe  who  reads  his  essay  on 
"  Helena." 

It  was  the  direct  purpose  of  Goethe  to  be  the 
intellectual  deliverer  of  his  age,  as  he  distinctly 
avowed  to  Eckermann  when  he  said  that  the  name 
which  he  would  prefer  to  all  others  was  "Befreier." 
The  tendency  of  his  life  and  his  writings,  after  his 
return  from  Italy,  is  all  in  the  same  direction.  Tbey 
all  teach,  even  where  no  didactic  purpose  is  ap- 
parent, that  liberty  is  attainable,  not  by  defiance  of 
moral  and  physical  law,  but  by  obedience  to  it ;  that 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF   GOETHE         5 

happiness  is  to  be  found  only  in  a  cheerful  acquies- 
cence in  the  rationality  of  existence.  In  this  lesson 
there  is  deliverance  to  him  who  properly  estimates 
and  apprehends  it.  Thus  barrenly  stated  it  sounds 
commonplace  enough  to  us  of  the  nineteenth  cen- 
tury ;  but  it  is  largely  due  to  Goethe's  influence 
that  it  has  become  so  generally  accepted.  Before 
"  Faust "  was  written  there  were  few  who  would 
have  been  able  to  defend  such  a  proposition,  even 
though  they  might  profess  to  accept  it. 

Johann  Wolfgang  Goethe  was  born  in  Frankfort- 
on-the-Main,  August  28,  1749.  His  family,  a  few 
generations  back,  had  been  plain  artisans,  and  had 
by  dint  of  talent  and  energy  risen  to  prosperity  and 
social  importance.  Goethe's  father  had  inherited  a 
respectable  fortune,  enjoyed  a  good  education,  and 
had  travelled  considerably  in  his  own  country  and 
in  Italy.  He  was  a  stem  and  methodical  man,  rig- 
idly upright,  impatient  of  all  irregularities,  and 
somewhat  pedantic  in  his  habits  and  opinions.  His 
bearing  was  dignified,  his  disposition  despotic.  At 
the  age  of  thirty-eight  he  married  Katharine  Eliza- 
beth, daughter  of  the  Magistrate  Textor,  and  bought 
the  title  of  Imperial  Counsellor.  There  were  no 
duties  connected  with  this  ofi&ce,  but  it  conferred  a 
social  rank  which  in  those  days  was  highly  prized. 
The  young  wife  whom  the  counsellor  installed  in 
his  spacious  house  in  the  Hirschgraben  was  a  con- 
trast to  him  in  almost  everything.  She  was  genial 
and  full  of  wholesome  mirth.  Her  culture  was 
probably  moderate    enough,   but   she  possessed  a 


6  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

nature  which  compensated  for  all  deficiencies  of  ed- 
ucation. An  exuberant  fancy,  inexhaustible  good- 
humor,  and  an  ever  -  ready  mother  -  Avit  made  her 
the  most  delightful  of  companions ;  and  no  one 
valued  more  highly  her  many  charming  gifts  than 
her  son  Johann  Wolfgang.  As  he  grew  out  of  in- 
fancy she  became  his  playmate  and  friend,  and  the 
confidant  of  his  boyish  soitows.  She  listened  with 
delight  to  his  improvisations,  and  secretly  took  his 
part  in  his  occasional  rebellion  against  the  paternal 
authority. 

In  the  invention  of  stories  she  was  an  expert ;  her 
serials  ran  from  evening  to  evening,  and  were  con- 
tinued ad  libitum.  Goethe  and  his  sister  Cornelia 
would  then  tell  them  at  second-hand  to  their  Grand- 
mother Textor,  indulging  in  conjectures  as  to  the 
future  course  of  events,  and  expressing  their  hopes 
for  a  satisfactory  ending.  These  speculations  Grand- 
mother Textor  would  again  confide  to  her  daughter, 
who  would  then  take  care  to  make  Wolfgang's  con- 
jectures come  true,  meting  out  the  most  gi*atifying 
justice  to  the  villain,  and  to  suffering  virtue  an  am- 
ple reward. 

Frau  Aja,  as  she  was  called,  became  in  later  years, 
as  her  son's  fame  grew,  a  character  in  German  lit- 
erature. His  friends  became  her  friends,  and  no 
one  of  any  consequence  passed  through  the  city  of 
Frankfort  without  stopping  to  pay  his  respects  to 
her.  Her  cheerful  view  of  life,  her  absolute  refusal 
to  entertain  gloomy  subjects,  her  easy-going  desire 
to  please  and  be  pleased  made  her  a  universal  favor- 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  GOETHE         J 

ite.  Previous  to  her  death  (1808)  she  arranged  the 
minutest  details  of  her  funeral,  even  warning  her 
servants  not  to  skimp  the  raisins  in  the  cake,  with 
which  the  guests  were  to  be  regaled.  Receiving  an 
invitation  to  a  party,  as  she  felt  the  approach  of 
death,  she  returned  the  answer  that  "  Madame 
Goethe  could  not  come,  because  she  was,  just  then, 
engaged  in  dying." 

Goethe's  father  seems  to  have  inspired  most  biog- 
raphers with  ill-will.  And  yet  he  was,  though  less 
lovable  than  his  wife,  a  well-endowed,  conscientious, 
and  estimable  man.  That  he  was  a  sterner  disci- 
plinarian than  his  wife  (who  herself  declared  that  she 
was  unfit  to  educate  anybody)  was  a  fortunate  cir- 
cumstance for  his  children.  For  Frau  Aja  systemati- 
cally spoiled  them,  indulging  all  their  whims,  and 
granting  all  their  wishes,  if  they  would  only  be 
pleasant  and  not  cry.  There  is  plenty  of  evidence 
that  the  counsellor  had  a  great  ambition  for  his 
son,  and  took  a  deep  interest  in.  his  education.  He 
coirected  and  criticised  his  drawings,  directed  his 
studies,  watched  his  progress,  and  expressed  his 
displeasure  when  the  boy  failed  to  come  up  to  his 
expectation.  Fortunate  is  the  boy  who  has  such  a 
father,  even  though  he  may  not  have  the  sagacity  to 
appreciate  him.  And  doubly  needed  were  the  re- 
straining force,  the  insistance  upon  duty,  and  the 
occasional  seventy  of  the  Counsellor  Goethe,  as  a 
counterpoise  to  the  utter  laxity  of  the  pleasure-lov- 
ing mother. 

Goethe's  well-known  views  concerning  his  ances- 


8  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

try  show  that  he  valued  in  maturer  yeai'S  both  his 
paternal  and  maternal  heredity  : 

"  Vom  Vater  hab'  ich  die  Statur, 
Des  Lebens  ernstes  Fuhren  ; 
Vom  Miitterclien  die  Frohnatur 
Die  Lust  zu  fabulireu," 

which  Professor  J.  T.  Blackie  translates  thus  : 

**  My  goodlj  frame  and  earnest  soul 
I  from  my  sire  inherit ; 
My  happy  heart  and  glib  discourse 
Was  my  brave  mother's  merit." 

Goethe  was  a  precocious  child,  richly  endowed 
physically  and  mentally.  He  absorbed  knowledge 
spontaneously  and  without  effort.  His  fancy,  too, 
was  active,  and  he  took  delight  in  relating  marvel- 
lous tales,  which  he  himself  invented,  to  a  company 
of  admiring  friends.  The  two  fairy  tales,  "The 
New  Paris  "  and  "  The  New  Melusine,"  which  he  re- 
printed in  a  somewhat  improved  shape  in  his  auto- 
biography, belong  to  this  period, 

A  charming  anecdote  is  related  apropos  of  his 
fondness  for  Klopstock's  biblical  epic,  "The  Mes- 
siah." Frau  Aja  had  surreptitiously  borrowed  this 
book,  and  went  about  with  it  in  her  pocket,  because 
her  husband  disapproved  of  Klopstock's  wild  and  re- 
bellious rhapsodies.  Goethe  and  his  younger  sister 
Cornelia,  sharing  their  mother's  predilections,  there- 
fore committed  the  precious  verses  to  memory,  and 
amused   themselves  with  personating  the   enraged 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  GOETHE         9 

Satan  and  his  subordinate  fiends.  Standing  on 
chairs  in  the  nursery  they  would  hurl  the  most 
delightfully  polysyllabic  maledictions  at  each  other. 
One  Saturday  evening,  while  their  father  was  receiv- 
ing a  professional  visit  from  his  barber,  the  two 
children  (who  were  always  hushed  and  subdued  in 
his  presence)  were  seated  behind  the  stove  whisper- 
ing sonorous  curses  in  each  other's  ears.  Cornelia, 
however,  carried  away  by  the  impetus  of  her  inspi- 
ration, forgot  the  father's  presence,  and  spoke  with 
increasing  violence  : 

"  Help  me  !  halp  !     I  implore  thee,  and  if  thou  demand'st  it 
Worship  thee,  outcast !     Thou  monster  and  black  male- 
factor ! 
Help  me  !      I  suffer  the  torments  of  death,  the  eternal 
avenger !  "  etc. 

The  barber,  frightened  out  of  hia  wits  by  such 
extraordinary  language,  poured  the  soap-lather  over 
the  counsellor's  bosom.  The  culprits  were  sum- 
moned for  trial,  and  Klopstock  was  placed  upon  the 
index  expurgatorius. 

In  1765  Goethe  was  sent  to  the  University  of 
Leipsic,  where  he  was  matriculated  as  a  student  of 
law.  It  was  his  father's  wish  that  he  should  fit 
himself  for  the  legal  profession,  and  in  time  inherit 
the  paternal  dignity  as  a  counsellor  and  honored 
citizen  of  the  free  city  of  Frankfort.  Agreeably  to 
this  plan  Goethe  attended  lectures  on  logic  and 
Roman  law,  but  soon  grew  so  tired  of  these  bar- 
ren disciplines  that  he  absented  himself  from  lect- 


lO  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

ures  altogether.  A  brief  and  innocent  love  affair 
with  Kiithchen  Schonkopf,  the  daughter  of  the  laud- 
lord  with  whom  he  took  his  dinners,  may  have 
tended  to  distract  his  attention.  Loving  your  land- 
lord's daughter  is  as  a  rule  antagonistic  both  to  law 
and  logic.  A  serious  illness  further  interfered  with 
his  studies,  and  in  1768,  after  three  years'  sojourn 
at  the  university,  Goethe  was  called  home  to  Frank- 
fort, where  he  spent  two  years,  regaining  his  health. 
Goethe's  sojourn  in  Leipsic  brought  him  into 
contact  with  the  French  rococo  culture,  which  then 
predominated  in  all  the  higher  circles  of  Ger- 
many. The  periwig  period,  with  its  elaborately 
artificial  manners  and  "  elegant "  sentiments,  had 
set  its  monuments  in  German  literature  as  in  that 
of  France.  Gottsched,  who  was  a  servile  imitator 
of  the  authors  of  the  age  of  Louis  XIV.  and  Louis 
XV.,  was  a  professor  in  Leipsic  while  Goethe  was 
there,  though  his  influence  as  a  dictator  of  taste 
was  greatly  on  the  wane.  Nevertheless  the  tone  of 
Leipsic  society  remained  French,  and  it  was  natural 
that  an  impressible  young  poet  like  Goethe  should 
assume  the  tone  of  his  surroundings.  We  therefore 
see  that  his  first  literary  efforts,  a  volume  of  poems 
published  as  texts  for  musical  compositions,  bear 
the  rococo  stamp  and  are  as  frivolous  and  full  of 
artificial  conceits,  as  if  they  had  been  addressed  to 
one  of  the  beauties  of  Versailles.  Poetry  was  then 
believed  to  be  a  graceful  ingenuity  of  language  and 
sparkling  play  of  fancy.  Nature  was  banished,  as 
rude  and  uncouth,  or,  if  admitted-,  laced  in  a  very 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF   GOETHE       II 

tight  corset,  rouged  and  powdered,  befrilled  and  be- 
dizened, until  it  could  pass  muster  in  the  "  elegant " 
salons  of  the  period.  Goethe's  youthful  drama, 
"The  Accomplices"  ("Die  Mitschuldigen"),  is  in 
this  strain,  and  is  radically  alien  to  German  moral- 
ity. 

In  April,  1770,  Goethe  was  sufficiently  restored  to 
health  to  resume  his  studies.  He  did  not,  however, 
return  to  Leipsic,  but  went  to  the  University  of 
Strassburg,  where  the  teaching  of  the  law  was  held 
to  be  very  efficient.  The  city  of  Strassburg  was 
then,  as  it  has  ever  since  remained,  essentially  Ger- 
man, though  there  was  an  infusion  of  Gallic  life 
from  the  French  officials  who  governed  the  con- 
quered province.  It  was  here,  where  Gallic  and 
Teutonic  life  ran  in  friendly  parallelism,  that  Goethe 
first  discovered  the  distinctive  features  of  each.  It 
was  here  he  met  Herder,  whose  oracular  utterances 
on  the  subjects  of  poetry,  religion,  and  society  pow- 
erfully afifected  him.  Herder  was  a  disciple  of  Rous- 
seau; and  had  declared  war,  not  against  civilization 
in-  general,  but  against  that  phase  of  it  which  was 
represented  by  France.  He  detested  the  entire  peri- 
wig spirit,  and  denounced  in  vigorous  rhetoric  its 
hollow  frivolity.  He  clamored  for  truth  and  sim- 
plicity, and  selected  from  the  literature  of  the  world 
certain  books  in  which  he  detected  the  strong  and 
uncorrupted  voice  of  nature.  Among  these  were  the 
Bible,  Homer,  Shakespeare,  Ossian,  and  the  ballad 
literature  of  all  nations.  It  is  curious,  indeed,  to  find 
Ossian  in  such  a  company,  but  it  must  be  remem- 


\ 

12  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

bered  that  MacPhersou's  deception  had  not  then 
been  exposed. 

Goethe  drank  in  eagerly  these  new  and  refreshing 
doctrines.  He  began  to  read  the  writers  Herder 
recommended,  and  in  his  enthusiasm  for  Shakespeare 
soon  went  beyond  his  teacher.  He  condemned  his 
own  frivolous  imitations  of  French  models,  and 
wrestled  with  gigantic  plans  for  future  productions 
which  should  infuse  new  vigor  into  the  enervated 
literatui'e  of  the  Fatherland.  It  was  during  this 
period  of  Titanic  enthusiasm  that  he  conceived  the 
idea  of  "  Faust,"  for  the  complete  embodiment  of 
which  he  labored,  though  with  many  interruptions, 
for  sixty  years,  until  a  few  months  before  his  death. 
A  lively  interest  in  natural  science  also  began  to  de- 
velop itself  in  him,  while  his  disinclination  for  the 
law  showed  no  signs  of  abating.  At  lectures  he  was 
not  a  frequent  "guest ;  but  for  all  that  his  intellect- 
ual life  was  aroused  and  he  was  by  no  means  idle. 
With  his  great  absorptive  capacity  he  assimilated  a 
large  amount  of  the  most  varied  knowledge,  but  in- 
sisted upon  exercising  his  choice  as  to  the  kind  of 
learning  which  his  nature  and  faculties  craved. 
The  result  was  that,  when  the  time  came  for  taking 
the  doctor's  degree,  Johanu  Wolfgang  Goethe,  un- 
questionably the  most  brilliant  intellect  Germany 
has  produced,  failed  to  pass  his  examinations.  He 
was,  however,  not  ignominiously  "  flunked,"  but 
was  permitted  to  depart  with  the  more  modest  title 
of  "  Licentiate  of  the  Law."  It  was  not  his  legal 
learning  which  was  found  to  be  deficient,  but  his 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  GOETHE       1 3 

thesis  was  tinctured  with  alarming  sentiments  which 
savored  of  Rousseau.  The  faculty  felt  itself  justi- 
fied in  stamping  such  dangerous  doctrines  with  its 
disapproval  This  was  not  what  the  old  gentleman 
in  Fx'ankfort  had  looked  forward  to,  and  it  is  pre- 
sumable that  the  reception  he  gave  his  son,  when  he 
returned  in  1771  to  the  city  of  his  fathers,  was  not 
over-cordial.  He  was  probably  not  wise  enough  to 
see  that  he  himself  was  to  blame  for  having  compelled 
the  boy  to  devote  himself  to  a  study  for  which  he 
had  neither  taste  nor  inclination. 

An  incident  of  Goethe's  life  in  Strassburg,  which 
greatly  influenced  his  literaiy  activity,  was  his  meet- 
ing with  Frederika  Brion,  the  daughter  of  the  par- 
son at  Sesenheim.  The  parsonage  was  about  six 
hours'  journey  from  the  city,  and  Goethe  was  in  the 
habit  of  visiting  there  with  his  friend  Weyland,  who 
was  a  relative  of  the  family.  The  parson  was  a 
plain,  God-fearing  man,  who  went  about  in  dress- 
ing-gown and  slippers  and  with  a  long  pipe  in  his 
mouth.  His  daughters,  Salome  and  Frederika,  were 
what  the  daughters  of  country  clergymen  are  apt  to 
be — nice,  domestic  girls,  who  w^ould  make  charm- 
ing wives  for  almost  anybody  who  would  have  the 
good  sense  to  propose  to  them.  Frederika  was 
pi-etty,  and  moreover  she  had  an  unfortified  heart. 
She  possessed  a  few  artless  accomplishments — such 
as  playing  and  singing — but  when  she  was  to  dis- 
play these  before  company,  everything  went  wrong. 
Her  portrait,  as  drawn  by  Goethe  in  his  autobiog- 
raphy, is  one  of  the  loveliest  things  in  German  lit- 


14  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

erature.  Hex*  simple  talk  and  strictly  practical  in- 
terests, far  removed  from  all  sentimentality,  seemed 
-^to  be  in  perfect  accord  with  her  little  "  tip-tilted 
nose  "  and  her  half-rustic  Alsatian  costume.  It  is 
obvious  that  she  appealed  to  Goethe's  artistic  nat- 
ure ;  that  he  gloried  in  the  romantic  phases  of  his 
simple  life  at  the  parsonage.  He  had  already  then 
the  keenest  appreciation  of  what  one  might  call  the 
literary  aspect  of  his  experiences.  He  knew  at 
once,  and  probably  anticipated  in  spirit,  how  they 
would  look  in  a  book.  But  he  was  at  the  same  time 
an  inflammable  youth,  whose  heart  was  readily 
touched  through  the  medium  of  his  fancy.  By  de- 
grees, as  he  established  himself  in  the  favor  of  every 
member  of  the  Brion  family,  his  relation  to  Fred- 
eiika  became  that  of  a  lover.  The  father  and  the 
mother  accepted  him  in  this  capacity,  and  Fred- 
erika  herself  was  overflowing  with  deep  and  quiet 
happiness.  By  an  unlucky  chance,  however,  the 
two  Brion  sisters  were  invited  "to  spend  some  time 
with  friends  in  Strassburg.  Goethe  was  charmed 
at  the  prospect.  But,  strange  to  say,  torn  out  of 
the  idyllic  frame  in  which  he  had  been  wont  to  see 
her,  Frederika  seemed  no  longer  so  miraculous. 
She  needed  the  rural  parsonage  and  the  yellow 
wheat-fields  for  a  setting ;  amid  the  upholstered 
furniture  and  gilded  conventionalities  of  the  city 
she  seemed  only  a  simple-hearted  country  girl,  per- 
haps a  little  deficient  in  manners.  From  that  time 
the  charm  was  broken.  Frederika  returned  to  her 
home  ;  Goethe,  too,  soon  left  Strassburg.     Freder- 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  GOETHE       1$ 

ika  ■waited  for  bim  month  after  month,  but  he  did 
not  come.  He  lacked  courage  to  tell  her  of  the 
changed  state  of  his  feelings,  and  left  her  to  pine 
away  between  hope  and  cruel  disappointment.  A 
serious  illness  was  the  result,  which  came  near  end- 
ing her  life.  Eight  years  later  Goethe,  then  a  world- 
renowned  man,  revisited  Sesenheim  and  found  her 
yet  unmarried.  She  was  as  frank  and  friendly  as 
ever,  but  her  youthful  gayety  was  gone  ;  she  was 
pale,  hushed,  and  subdued.  She  made  no  allusion 
to  the  relation  which  had  once  existed  between 
them,  but  she  conducted  him  silently  to  the  arbor 
in  the  garden  where  they  had  spent  so  many  rapt- 
urous hours  together.  There  they  sat  down  and 
talked  of  indifferent  things ;  but  many  strange 
thoughts  arose  in  the  minds  of  both. 

Frederika  died  of  consumption  in  1813. 

After  his  return  to  Frankfort,  in  1771,  Goethe 
made  an  earnest  effort  to  please  his  father  by  laying 
the  foundation  of  a  legal  practice.  The  counsellor 
himself  aided  him  in  every  possible  way,  looked  up 
his  authorities,  and  acted  as  a  private  referee  in 
doubtful  questions.  For  all  that,  it  was  literature 
and  not  law  which  filled  Goethe's  mind  and  fash- 
ioned his  visions  of  the  future.  In  the  intervals  of 
business  he  paid  visits  to  the  city  of  Darmstadt, 
where  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  Herder's  ^ncee, 
Caroline  Flachsland,  and  of  Merck,  who  became  his 
model  for  Mephistopheles.  It  was  an  interesting 
society  which  he  here  encountered,  a  society  ani- 
mated by  an  exalted  veneration  for  poetic  and  intel- 


1 6  GERMAN  LITER  A  TURE 

lectual  acliievements  and  devoted  to  a  kind  of  emo- 
tional extravagance — an  artificial  heightening  of 
every  fine  feeling  and  sentiment.  Caroline  Flachs- 
land  and  her  cii'cle,  recognizing  Goethe's  extraor- 
dinary endowment,  and  feehng,  perhaps,  doubly 
inclined  in  his  favor  by  his  handsome  exterior,  ac- 
cepted him,  as  it  were,  on  trust,  and  honored  him 
for  what  he  was  going  to  do  rather  than  for  any- 
thing which  he  had  actually  accomplished.  His 
love  affair  with  Frederika,  which  was  here  senti- 
mentally discussed,  also  added  to  the  interest  with 
which  he  was  regarded.  A  man  who  is  known  to 
have  broken  many  hearts  is  naturally  invested  with 
a  tantalizing  charm  to  women  who  have  yet  hearts 
to  be  broken.  At  all  events  the  great  expectations 
"which  were  entertained  of  him  in  the  Darmstadt 
circle,  stimulated  him  to  justify  the  reputation 
which  had  been  thrust  upon  him.  In  1772  he  pub- 
lished the  drama,  "  Gotz  von  Berlichingen,"  which  at 
one  stroke  established  his  positiou  as  the  foremost 
among  German  poets.  It  must  be  remembered, 
however,  that  Germany  had  at  that  time  no  really 
great  poet.  Lessing  was,  indeed,  alive,  and  had 
written  dramas  which,  in  point  of  theatrical  effec- 
tiveness and  brilliancy,  were  superior  to  "Gotz." 
But  Lessing  disclaimed  the  title  of  poet,  and  his 
prominence  as  a  critic  and  a  polemic  defender  of  ra- 
tionalism overshadowed,  in  the  minds  of  his  con- 
temporaries, his  earlier  activity  in  the  service  of  the 
muses.  Moreover,  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that 
"Gotz,"  with  all  its  crudity  of  construction,  is  a 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF   GOETHE       1/ 

warmer  and  more  full-blooded  production  than  any 
of  the  plays  which  Lessiug  had  written  for  the  pur- 
pose of  demonstrating  the  soundness  of  his  canons 
of  dramatic  criticism. 

"  Gotz  "  is  a  somewhat  chaotic  performance,  ob- 
viously written  in  imitation  of  Shakespeare.  It 
violates,  whether  purposely  or  not,  every  law  of 
dramatic  construction.  It  is  a  touching  and  poeti- 
cal story,  displaying  psychological  insight  and  vig- 
orous characterization.  But  it  takes  a  nimble  fancy 
to  keep  up  with  the  perpetual  changes  of  scene  ; 
and  even  the  tendency  and  morale  of  the  piece  are 
open  to  criticism.  Goethe  enlists  the  reader's  sym- 
pathies in  behalf  of  the  law-breaker,  whose  sturdy 
manhood  and  stubborn  independence  bring  him 
into  conflict  with  the  state.  Gotz,  in  spite  of  his 
personal  merits,  represents  the  wild  and  disorderly 
individualism  of  the  Middle  Ages,  at  war  with  the 
forces  of  order  and  social  progress,  represented  by 
the  Emperor  and  the  free  cities.  Therefore  it  is 
scarcely  proper  to  apostrophize  him  as  the  martyr 
of  a  noble  cause. 

In  *'  Gotz  "  Goethe  deals,  secondarily,  with  faith- 
lessness as  a  psychological  problem.  He  practically 
assigns  to  himself  the  part  of  the  villain,  Weisslingen, 
who  from  sheer  weakness,  "  possessing  no  resolu- 
tion either  for  good  or  for  ill,"  breaks  the  heart  of 
a  noble  young  girl.  But  Weisslingen  is  faithless 
not  because  of  any  sinister  delight  in  breaking 
hearts,  but  because  he  lacks  the  courage  to  be  true, 
when  he  falls  under  the  spell  of  a  more  dazzling  and 


1 8  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

more  powerful  charmer.  The  latter,  Adelaide  von 
Walldorf,  is  the  only  conventionally  wicked  stock 
character  of  the  drama  to  be  found  in  all  Goethe's 
■writings  ;  and  she  is,  curiously  enough,  the  only 
one  of  his  female  characters  for  whom  no  living 
original  or  prototype  has  been  found.  A  sec- 
ond revised  edition  of  "Gotz"  was  published  in 
1773,  in  which  some  of  the  most  daring  unconven- 
tioualities  of  the  first  edition  are  changed  or  omit- 
ted, and  the  dramatic  action  is  concentrated  and 
much  improved. 

After  having  practised  law  in  a  leisurely  fashion 
in  Frankfort,  Goethe  removed,  at  his  father's  rec- 
ommendation, to  Wetzlar,  where  he  was  admitted 
as  a  practitioner  at  the  Imperial  Chamber  of  Justice. 
This  removal  took  place  in  May,  1774.  Among  the 
first  acquaintances  which  he  made  in  this  city  were 
a  young  jurist  named  Kestner  and  his  fiancee, 
Charlotte  Bufif.  Kestner  and  Goethe  became  good 
friends,  in  spite  of  differences  of  temperament  and 
charactei',  and  their  friendship  soon  came  to  include 
Lotte.  The  jurist,  who  was  a  plain,  practical  man, 
and  the  soul  of  honor,  could  see  no  danger  in  the 
daily  association  of  his  betrothed  with  a  handsome 
and  brilliant  young  poet,  who  confided  to  her  his 
hopes  and  ambitions,  romped  with  her  small  broth- 
ers and  sisters,  and  captivated  the  entii'e  family 
by  the  reckless  grace  and  charm  of  his  manners. 
Kestner  did  not  suspect  that  there  were  depths 
in  Lotte's  nature  which  he  had  never  sounded, 
regions  of  sentiment  and  fancy  which  he  could 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  GOETHE       1 9 

never  hope  to  explore.  For  Lotte,  though  she  had 
a  strong  sense  of  duty,  had  by  no  means  as  well- 
regulated  and  business-like  a  heart  as  her  practical 
lover.  Thus  the  strange  thing  came  to  pass  :  Lotte 
fell  in  love  with  Goethe,  and  Goethe  with  Lotte. 
They  made  no  confession  of  their  secret  even  to 
each  other,  but  they  revelled  in  each  other's  com- 
pany, undisturbed  by  Kestuer's  presence.  At  last, 
however,  a  crisis  occurred.  Goethe  began  to  see 
that  he  was  treading  on  dangerous  ground.  One 
evening,  as  he  was  lounging  at  Lotte's  feet,  playing 
with  the  flounces  on  her  dress,  and  the  talk  had 
taken  a  serious  turn,  he  remarked,  referring  to  a 
brief  journey  which  he  was  about  to  undertake,  that 
he  hoped  they  would  meet  "jenseits "  (beyond), 
meaning  beyond  the  mountains  which  he  was  going 
to  cross.  Lotte  misunderstood  the  allusion,  and, 
quite  forgetting  Kestner's  presence,  answered,  fer-- 
vently,  that  she  could  well  be  reconciled  to  losing 
him  in  this  world,  implying  that  she  hoped  to  be 
united  to  him  in  the  hereafter.  It  was  a  sudden 
flash  which  revealed  to  Goethe  the  fact  that  Lotte 
loved  him.  He  was  Kestner's  friend,  was  trusted 
by  him,  and  could  not  act  dishonorably.  So  he  took 
his  leave,  packed  his  trunks  that  very  night,  and 
wrote  three  despairing  letters,  in  which  he  avowed 
his  love  for  Lotte,  and  gave  this  as  the  reason  of  his 
departure.  He  made  it  appear,  probably  in  order 
to  shield  hei-,  that  his  love  was  hopeless  and  that 
her  happiness  was  dearer  to  him  than  his  own. 
That  this  is  the  true  version  of  the  Wetzlar  afiBair 


20  GERMAN"  LITERATURE 

is  made  plain  by  the  documents  published  by  Her- 
man Grimm,  in  his  "  Lectures  on  Goethe." 

This  episode  with  Chai'lotte  Buff  and  Kestner 
furnished  Goethe  with  the  material  for  his  celebrated 
romance,  "  The  Soitows  of  Werther,"  which  he 
published  in  September,  1774/  As  was  usual  with 
him,  and  indeed  with  every  great  poet,  he  did  not 
copy  the  actual  relation,  but  he  borrowed  from  it 
what  was  typical  and  immortal,  and  left  out  what 
was  accidental  and  insignificant.  Thus  Lotte  in 
"  Werther "  is  not  Charlotte  Buff,  though  she  sat 
for  her  model  and  furnished  the  main  features  of  the 
beautiful  type.  In  a  still  less  degree  is  the  pitiful 
Albert  the  author's  friend  Kestner,  though  he  is 
sufficiently  like  the  latter  to  justify  him  in  being  of- 
fended. The  character  of  Werther  himself  is  more 
of  a  free  creation,  though  his  external  fate  was  bor- 
rowed from  that  of  a  young  secretary  named  Jeru- 
salem, who  shot  himself  for  love  of  a  married 
woman.  In  all  other  respects  Werther  is  Goethe 
himself  in  his  "  Storm  and  Stress "  period,  while 
all  the  vital  juices  of  his  being  were  in  ferment, 
while  his  youthful  heart  beat  loudly  in  sympathy 
with  the  world's  woe ;  while  the  tumultuous  cur- 
rents of  emotion  swayed  him  hither  and  thither, 
and  could  not  be  made  to  run  in  the  safe  con- 
ventional channels.  And  yet,  even  in  those  days, 
there  was  a  still  small  voice  of  reason  in  Goethe's 
soul  which  restrained  him  from  excesses — an  under- 
current of  sanity  and  sobriety  which  kept  him  always 
sound  in  his  innermost  core.     If  Werther  had  been 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS    OF   GOETHE       21 

like  his  prototype  in  this  respect  he  would  not  have 
killed  himself — in  other  -words,  he  would  not  have 
been  Wei'ther. 

The  amazing  popularity  which  "  The  Son-ows  of 
Werther "  attained,  not  only  in  Germany  but 
throughout  the  civilized  world,  cannot  be  due  to  the 
story  as  such,  which  is  as  simple  as  any  episode  of 
daily  life.  It  is  only  explainable  on  the  supposition 
that  the  book  for  the  first  time  voiced  a  sentiment 
which  was  well  -  nigh  universal  in  Europe,  during 
the  eighteenth  century.  The  Germans  call  it  Welt- 
schmerz  —  i.e.,  world -woe.  It  takes  in  "Werther" 
the  form  of  a  tender  melancholy,  a  sense  of  poetic 
sadness,  which,  after  the  unhapp}-  love  aifair,  deepens 
into  a  gentle  despair  and  leads  to  self-destruction. 
Psychologically,  this  is  a  very  interesting  phenome- 
non. The  pent-up  energy  of  the  nation,  which  was 
denied  its  natural  sphere  of  action  in  public  and 
political  life,  takes  a  morbid  turn  and  wastes  itself 
in  unwholesome  introspection,  coddling  of  artificial 
sentiment,  and  a  vague  discontent  with  the  world  in 
general. 

During  the  year  1774  Goethe  also  published  the 
tragedy  "  Clavigo,"  which  was  a  great  disappoint- 
ment to  his  friends.  Its  plot  is  borrowed  from  the 
"  Memoirs  of  Beau m arch ais,"  and  deals  again  with 
the  problem  of  faithlessness.  In  poetic  intensity 
and  fervor  it  is  inferior  to  "Gotz  "  and  "  Werther," 
while,  in  point  of  dramatic  construction,  it  marks 
an  advance.  It  is  his  own  faithlessness  to  Fred- 
erika  which  Goethe  obviously  has  in  mind  and  which 


22  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

he  is  endeavoring  psycliologically  to  account  for. 
But  even  from  this  point  of  view  the  tragedy  can 
scarcely  be  called  a  success  ;  for  the  reader  closes 
the  book  with  the  conviction  that  Clavigo  was,  if 
not  a  villain,  at  all  events  a  weak  poltroon,  though 
as  such  a  perfectly  comprehensible  one. 

After  his  departure  from  Wetzlar,  Goethe  once 
more  took  up  his  residence  in  his  native  city,  and, 
before  long,  was  again  involved  in  a  tender  relation. 
This  time,  it  was  a  rich  and  beautiful  lady  of  society 
who  attracted  him  —  quite  a  contrast  to  the  rural 
Frederika  and  the  amiable  and  domestic  Lotte. 
Anna  Elizabeth  Schcinemann,  generally  known  as 
Lilli,  was  about  sixteen  years  old  when  Goethe  fell 
a  victim  to  her  charms.  She  was  a  spoiled  child, 
wilful  and  coquettish,  but  high  -  bred  and  with  a 
charm  of  manner,  when  she  chose  to  be  agreeable, 
which  fully  explains  the  poet's  devotion  to  her.  More- 
over, there  was  nothing  meek  and  abjectly  admiring 
about  her.  She  teased  her  adorer,  tormented  him 
by  her  whims,  and  took  delight  in  exercising  her 
power  over  him.  This  was  quite  a  new  experience 
to  a  young  man  who  had  been  accustomed  to  easy 
conquests  and  uncritical  adoration.  He  was  now 
drawn  into  general  society,  and,  after  his  engage- 
ment with  Lilli  had  been  made  public,  was  com- 
pelled to  dance  attendance  upon  her,  early  and  late, 
at  balls  and  dinner-parties.  As  an  experience  this 
might  be  valuable  enough,  but  Goethe  soon  tired  of 
it,  and  protested  in  prose  and  verse  against  his  ser- 
vitude.    Lilli,  however,  though  she  was  sincerely 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  GOETHE       23 

attached  to  him,  could  not  be  made  to  give  up  the 
youthful  gayety  which  seemed  so  attractive  to  her. 
Quarrels  ensued,  alienations  and  reconciliations,  and 
finally  a  complete  rupture.  In  many  poems  from 
this  period  Goethe  chronicles  the  vaiious  stages  of 
his  love  for  Lilli  and  laments  her  loss.  There  is  no 
doubt  that  she  had  the  making  of  a  noble  woman  in 
her  ;  her  later  life,  and  particularly  her  utterances 
concerning  her  relation  to  Goethe,  show  that  she 
was  neither  frivolous  nor  shallow-hearted.  But  she 
was  young  and  beautiful,  and  had  a  sense  of  power 
which  it  was  but  natural  for  her  to  exercise.  The 
meek  and  submissive  maiden  is  in  undue  favor  with 
men,  and  Goethe's  biographers,  being  all  men,  have 
done  their  best  to  revile  the  memory  of  Lilli. 

Among  the  friends  who  were  warmly  attached  to 
Goethe  at  this  time,  Fritz  Jacobi  and  Lavater  demand 
a  passing  notice.  Both  presented  a  queer  mixture 
of  character,  which  accounts  for  their  subsequent 
alienation  from  the  poet.  It  is  worthy  of  remark 
that  scarcely  any  of  the  associates  of  Goethe's  youth 
maintained  their  intimate  relations  with  him  through 
life.  He  valued  a  friend  only  as  long  as  he  was  in 
sympathy  with  him,  and  as  he  outgrew  his  youthful 
self,  the  friends  who  had  been  identified  with  this 
self  lapsed  into  the  distance.  He  did  not  value 
fidelity  in  the  ordinary  sense  of  the  term,  when  it 
involved  a  perpetual  strain  upon  the  heart — when  it 
had  become  a  matter  of  duty  rather  than  of  afifec- 
tion.  As  regards  Lavater,  he  was,  with  all  his  os- 
tentatious, spirituality,  a  good  deal  of  a  charlatan, 


24  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

even  so  much  so  as  to  justify  Goethe's  epigram  in 
the  "  Xenien  : " 

"  Oh,  what  a  pity  that  Nature  but  one  inau  made  out  of  you, 
friend  ! 
Besides  for  an  honest  man,  there  was  also  the  stuff  for  a 
knave." 

He  reminds  one  of  Carlyle's  friend  Irving,  who 
also  started  as  an  honest  zealot  and  lapsed  into 
emotional  excesses,  which  leave  one  no  choice  but 
to  question  either  his  sanity  or  his  honesty.  The 
so-called  science  of  physiognomy,  which  Lavater 
claimed  to  have  discovered,  at  one  time  interested 
Goethe ;  but  later,  when  he  became  familiar  with 
scientific  methods  of  research,  he  could  no  longer 
accept  Lavater  as  a  guide. 

Fritz  Jacobi  was  an  honest  sentimentalist,  who 
ardently  revered  Goethe  for  his  great  powers  of 
mind  and  intellect.  They  travelled  together,  and 
revelled  in  the  emotions  of  love  and  sympathy  which 
welled  forth  from  the  souls  of  both.  Everything 
that  they  saw  filled  them  with  ecstatic  wonder,  and 
fm'nished  themes  for  extravagant  discourses  and 
poetic  dreams.  Jacobi,  even  though  the  years 
sobered  him,  never  completely  outgrew  this  state, 
and  when  he  published  his  sentimental  romance 
"  Woldemar,"  which  Goethe  could  not  admire,  their 
friendship  began  to  cool.  They  drifted  slowly  apart, 
though  there  was  no  rupture  to  signalize  their  es- 
trangement. 

In  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  Goethe  could  not  obtain 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  GOETHE       2$ 

any  lasting  satisfaction  from  his  occupation  with  the 
law,  and  he  grew  lax  in  his  attention  to  professional 
duties.  The  counsellor  was  grievously  disappointed, 
and  the  relation  between  father  and  son  grew  so 
strained  that  all  the  diplomacy  of  the  mother  was 
required  to  keep  them  from  open  disagreement.  It 
was  therefore  a  godsend  to  Goethe  when,  in  1775, 
the  two  princes  of  Saxe-Weimar  arrived  in  Frank- 
fort, and  extended  to  him  an  invitation  to  visit  their 
court.  The  eldest  of  the  brothers,  Karl  August, 
took  a  great  fancy  to  the  author  of  "  Werther,"  and 
made  every  effort  to  keep  him  as  a  friend  and  com- 
panion. To  this  end  he  conferred  upon  Goethe  the 
title  of  Privy  Counsellor,  with  an  annual  salary  of 
twelve  hundred  thalers  and  a  vote  in  the  ducal 
cabinet.  Goethe  had  thus  at  last  got  firm  ground 
under  his  feet,  and  could  now,  without  fear  of  the 
future,  give  himself  up  to  his  favorite  pursuits.  His 
arrival  in  Weimar  made  a  sensation.  His  fame,  his 
beauty,  and  his  winning  manners  gave  him  at  once  a 
prestige,  which  he  maintained  undiminished  to  the 
end  of  his  days.  The  duke,  who  was  a  blunt  and 
honest  fellow,  fond  of  pleasure  and  yet  zealous  for 
the  welfare  of  his  subjects,  found  in  Goethe  a  firm 
support  for  his  noblest  endeavors.  As  a  boon-com- 
panion in  pleasure  he  found  the  poet  no  less  attrac- 
tive ;  though  it  is  now  conceded  that  the  tales  which 
were  circulated  concerning  the  excesses  of  the  two 
friends,  at  court  festivals  and  rural  excursions,  were 
gi'eatly  exaggerated.  It  is  true,  a  pause  occurs  in 
Goethe's  literaiy  activity  after  his  arrival  in  Wei- 


26  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

mar ;  but  this  was  due  not  to  preoccupation  with 
pleasure,  but  to  the  zeal  with  which  he  devoted  him- 
self to  his  official  duties.  It  was  important  to  Goe- 
the, as  a  poet,  to  gain  a  deeper  insight  into  joractical 
reality,  and  he  seized  the  present  opportunity  to 
famiUarize  himself  with  many  phases  of  life  which 
hitherto  had  lain  beyond  his  horizon.  Strange  as 
it  may  seem  to  those  who  identify  with  the  name  of 
poet  everything  that  is  fantastic  and  irregular,  he 
made  a  model  official — punctual  and  exact  in  all  his 
dealings,  painstaking,  upright,  and  inflexible. 

During  his  early  youth,  Goethe  had  been  identified 
with  the  school  in  German  literature  known  as  the 
"  Storm  and  Stress  "  ("  Sturm  und  Drang  ").  The 
members  of  this  school  had  clamored  for  a  return  to 
Nature — meaning  by  Nature  absence  of  civilization. 
Civilization  was  held  responsible  for  all  the  ills  to 
which  flesh  is  heir,  and  the  remedy  was  held  to  be 
the  abolishment  of  all  the  artificial  refinements  of 
life  which  interfered  with  the  free  expression  of 
Nature.  Goethe  never  went  to  the  same  length  in 
these  doctrines  as  some  of  his  associates  (Klinger, 
Lenz,  Leisewitz),  but  he  was,  for  all  that,  Hke  them, 
a  disciple  of  Rousseau,  and  had,  both  in  "  Gotz  " 
and  "Werther,"  made  war  upon  civilized  society. 
It  is  therefore  notable  that,  after  his  arrival  in  Wei- 
mar and  his  closer  contact  with  the  actuaHties  of 
life,  a  profound  change  came  over  him,  which 
amounted  to  a  revolution  in  his  convictions.  The 
wild  ferment  of  his  youth  had  found  its  natural  ex- 
pression in  the  fervid,  tumultuous  diction  of  the 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  GOETHE       2J 

"  Storm  and  Stress,"  but  his  maturer  manhood  de- 
manded a  clearer,  soberer,  and  more  precise  utter- 
ance. The  change  that  took  place  in  his  style  dur- 
ing the  first  ten  years  of  his  sojourn  in  Weimar  was 
therefore  a  natural  one,  and  ought  to  have  caused 
no  surprise  to  those  who  knew  him. 

A  very  exhaustive  record  of  Goethe's  inner  and 
outer  life  during  this  period,  is  contained  in  his  cor- 
respondence with  Frau  von  Stein,  the  wife  of  Baron 
von  Stein,  a  nobleman  in  the  duke's  service.  She 
"was  seven  years  older  than  the  poet,  and  the  mother 
of  seven  children.  Beautiful  she  was  not,  but  she 
was  a  woman  of  exceptional  culture  and  finely  at- 
tuned mind,  capable  of  comprehending  subtle  shades 
of  thought  and  feeling.  Her  face,  as  the  portraits 
show,  was  full  of  delicacy  and  refinement.  Her 
marriage  was  unhappy,  and  without  any  protest  on 
the  part  of  her  husband,  she  sought  in  daily  inter- 
course with  Goethe  a  consolation  for  the  miseries  of 
her  life.  Yet  there  is  no  sufficient  reason  for  be- 
lieving that  the  relation  was  anything  more  than  a 
bond  of  sympathy  and  an  intellectual  friendship. 
His  letters,  appointing  interviews  and  overflowing 
with  affectionate  assurances,  are  those  of  a  lover. 
Unfortunately  Frau  von  Stein's  own  letters  have  not 
been  preserved  ;  she  took  the  precaution  to  demand 
them  back  and  bum  them,  when  their  friendship 
came  to  an  end.* 

In  September,  1786,  Goethe  started  from  Karls- 

*  For  a  fuller  account  see  the  essay  ou  "  Goethe's  Rela- 
tions with  Women." 


28  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

bad  for  Italy,  and  arrived  in  October  in  Rome.  For 
many  years  it  had  been  Lis  dearest  desire  to  see  the 
Eternal  City,  and  to  study  with  his  own  eyes  the 
masterpieces  of  ancient  art.  In  his  trunk  he  car- 
ried several  unfinished  manuscripts,  and  in  his  head 
a  number  of  literary  plans  which  he  here  hoped  to 
mature,  in  the  presence  of  the  marble  gods  and 
heroes  of  the  ancient  world.  He  associated  chiefly 
vdth  the  artists  Tischbein,  Meyer,  Philip  Hackert, 
and  Angelica  Kaufmann,  and  revelled  in  art  talk 
and  criticism.  He  took  up  again  the  study  of 
Homer,  and  began  to  meditate  upon  an  Homeric 
drama,  to  be  called  '•'Nausicaa."  Ital}',  with  its 
bright  sky,  its  gently  sloping  mountains,  clad  with 
silvery  olive-trees,  and  its  shores  washed  by  the 
blue  Mediterranean  waves,  became  a  revelation  to 
him,  and  he  apprehended  keenly  her  deepest  poetic 
meaning.  A  cheerful  paganism  henceforth  animates 
his  Wi-itings,  a  delight  in  sensuous  beauty,  and  a  cer- 
tain impatience  with  the  Christian  ideal  of  self-ab- 
negation. The  Hellenic  ideal  of  harmonious  cult- 
ure— an  even  development  of  all  the  powers  of  body 
and  soul — appealed  powerfully  to  him.  He  flung 
away  his  Gothic  inheritance,  undei-valuing,  in  his 
devotion  to  the  Greeks,  what  was  noble  and  beauti- 
ful in  the  sturdy,  self-denying  manhood  of  the  North. 
His  drama  "Iphigenia,"  which  he  had  first  written 
in  prose,  he  now  rewrote  in  classical  pentameters 
and  sent  it  home  to  his  friends  in  Weimar,  who  were 
completely  mystified,  and  did  not  quite  dare  to  say 
that  they  did  not  comprehend  it.     For  all  that,  this 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF   GOETHE       29 

drama  is  a  very  remarkable  production,  uniting,  as 
it  were,  the  Greek  and  the  Germanic  ideal,  and  be- 
ing in  spirit  as  close  to  the  latter  as  it  is  in  form  to 
the  former.  Goethe  dealt  with  this  old  classic  tale 
as  no  Greek  could  ever  have  done.  He  makes  the 
gentle  womanhood  of  Iphigenia  soften  the  man- 
ners of  the  fierce  Taurians,  and  by  her  noble  charac- 
ter act  as  a  civilizing  influence  in  the  midst  of  the 
barbarous  race.  The  Greeks  had  not  arrived  at 
such  an  estimate  of  women  ;  nor  would  Euripides, 
who  dealt  with  the  same  legend,  have  understood 
Goethe's  version  of  it  any  better  than  did  Herder 
and  his  friends  in  Weimar. 

In  June,  1788,  Goethe  again  turned  his  face 
noi-thward,  after  an  absence  of  nearly  two  years. 
One  of  the  first  effects  of  his  Italian  experience  was 
that  he  took  a  mistress,  named  Christiane  Vulpius, 
whom  many  years  later  he  man-ied.  Christiane  was 
a  bright-eyed,  rosy-cheeked  girl,  with  an  abundance 
of  curly  hail',  in  no  wise  intellectual,  and  belonging 
to  a  family  in  which  drunkenness  was  hereditary. 
She  was  of  redundant  physical  development,  had  al- 
ways a  bright  smile,  and  was  sufficiently  intelligent 
to  take  a  mild  interest  in  her  lover's  literary  and 
scientific  pursuits.  But  that  his  liaison  with  her 
was,  for  all  that,  a  deplorable  mistake,  can  scarcely 
be  questioned.  In  the  first  place  she  developed,  as 
she  grew  older,  her  hereditary  vice,  and  was  fre- 
quently unpresentable  on  account  of  intoxication. 
The  son  whom  she  bore  to  Goethe  inherited  the 
same  failing,  and  died  suddenly  in  Rome,   as  has 


30  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

been  surmised,  from  the  effects  of  a  carouse.  The 
young  man,  who  was  handsome  in  person  and  well 
endowed,  had  been  married  some  years  before  and 
was  the  father  of  two  sons,  both  of  whom  died  un- 
married. Walter  von  Goethe,  who  lived  until  Apiil, 
1885,  was  a  chamberlain  at  the  Court  of  Weimar, 
and  at  one  time  cherished  poetical-aspirations.  With 
his  death  the  race  of  Goethe  became  extinct  in  the 
direct  line.  It  is,  indeed,  true  that  the  sins  of  the 
fathers  avenge  themselves  upon  the  children. 

Christiane's  removal  to  Goethe's  house,  where  he 
henceforth  claimed  for  her  the  place  and  respect  due 
to  a  wife,  caused  a  grievous  commotion  in  Weimar. 
Frau  von  Stein  was  the  first  to  take  offence,  and  a 
rupture  of  their  former  relation  was  the  result. 
Herder  also  remonstrated,  and  soon  ceased  to  count 
himself  among  Goethe's  friends. 

In  1789  Goethe  completed  a  drama  which,  like  the 
"Iphigenia,"  had  existed  in  an  earlier  prose  version. 
It  was  entitled  "Tasso,"  and  dealt  with  the  history 
of  the  Italian  poet  of  that  name.  Its  purpose  seems 
to  be  to  protest  against  the  over-estimation  of  a  poet's 
calling,  then  in  vogue,  and  to  assert  the  rights  of 
practical  reason  as  against  those  of  the  imagination. 
Tasso  is  represented  as  an  impulsive  and  warm- 
hearted man  who  is  violently  swayed  by  his  emotions, 
while  the  cool-headed  man  of  the  world,  Antonio, 
represents  the  opposite  type.  In  the  contest  which 
arises  between  them  Tasso  is  worsted  ;  and  it  is 
Goethe's  purpose  to  convince  the  reader  that  he  de- 
serves his  fate.     In  this,  however,  he  is  not  entirely 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF   GOETHE       3 1 

successful.  Antonio,  the  adroit  and  sagacious  diplo- 
mat, is  an  unattractive  character  as  compared  with 
the  noble  and  generous  Tasso,  who  errs  from  in- 
ability to  restrain  his  passionate  adoration  of  the 
Princess  Leonora.  The  world  is  apt  to  sympathize 
more  with  generous  folly  than  with  far-seeing  sagac- 
ity and  nicely-adjusted  calculation.  And  yet,  when 
we  have  advanced  another  century,  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  we  shall  agree  that  Goethe's  judgment 
was  right. 

As  an  acting  play  "Tasso"  is  even  less  efifective 
than  "  Gotz  "  and  "  Iphigenia,"  being  rather  a  poetic 
and  admirably  conceived  story,  told  in  dramatic 
form,  than  a  drama  in  the  ordinary  acceptation  of 
the  term. 

If  further  proof  were  needed  that  Goethe  was  not 
a  dramatist,  "Egmont"  furnishes  conclusive  evi- 
dence. Here  were  again  a  series  of  delightful 
characteiizations,  subtle,  and  yet  vigorous  ;  and  pic- 
turesquely effective  scenes,  strung  together  most  en- 
tertainingly, but  only  with  remote  reference  to  the 
requirements  of  the  stage.  There  is  no  perceptible 
acceleration  of  the  action,  as  it  progresses,  no  sharp 
accentuation  of  motives  and  effects,  and  no  inexor- 
able necessity,  either  internal  or  external,  which 
hurries  the  hero  to  his  destruction.  No  poet, 
however  great,  can  emancipate  himself  from  these 
laws,  if  he  wishes  to  produce  a  successful  tragedy. 
As  a  mere  literary  production,  "Egmont"  is  fully 
worthy  of  the  author  of  "  Gotz  "  and  "  Werther,"  and 
deserves  the  immortality  which  it  has  earned.     The 


32  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

types  of  Clarchen  and  Egmont  have  a  perennial 
beauty,  of  which  no  critic  can  deprive  them.  The 
great  elemental  passion,  which  is  the  mainspring  of 
their  speech  and  action,  appeals  to  all  hearts  aUke, 
and  invests  them  with  a  charm  which  can  never  grow 
old. 

The  critic  who  first  expressed  substantially  the 
above  opinion  of  "  Egmont "  was  a  young  man  named 
Fx'ederick  Schiller,  who  was  just  then  glorying  in  his 
first  fame  as  the  author  of  "  The  Robbers  "  and  other 
sensational  dramas.  He  had  had  a  great  desire  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  Goethe,  whom  he  revered  ; 
though  he  was  probably  aware  of  the  dislike  which 
Goethe  entertained  for  the  violent  and  declamatory 
school  which  he  represented.  At  a  meeting  which 
took  place  in  September,  1788,  Schiller  was  quite 
grieved  at  the  coolness  with  which  the  elder  poet  re- 
ceived him  ;  and  at  a  subsequent  interview  he  like- 
wise failed  to  make  any  advance  in  Goethe's  favor. 
It  was  not  until  six  years  later  that  a  literary  enter- 
prise ("Die  Horen"),  which  Schiller  had  stai'ted, 
brought  them  into  closer  contact ;  and  Goethe  learned 
to  value  the  genius  of  the  man  whom  he  had  politely 
repelled.  From  this  time  forth  they  saw  much  of 
each  other,  and  remained  in  correspondence  when- 
ever chance  separated  them.  A  beautiful  fx-iendship, 
founded  upon  mutual  respect  and  community  of  in- 
terests, sprung  up  between  them,  and  deepened  with 
every  year,  until  death  separated  them.  Literature 
has  no  more  perfect  relation  to  show  between  two 
great  men  than  this  between  Goethe  and  Schiller. 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF   GOETHE       33 

No  jealousy,  no  passing  disagreement,  clouded  the 
serenity  of  their  intercourse.  They  met,  as  it  were, 
only  upon  the  altitudes  of  the  soul,  where  no  small 
and  petty  passions  have  the  power  to  reach.  Their 
correspondence,  which  has  been  published,  is  a 
noble  monument  to  the  worth  of  both.  The  ear- 
nestness with  which  they  discuss  the  principles  of 
their  art,  the  profound  conscientiousness  and  high- 
bred courtesy  with  which  they  criticise  each  other's 
works,  and  their  generous  rivalry  in  the  loftiest  ex- 
cellence have  no  parallel  in  the  entire  history  of  lit- 
erature. 

It  was  chiefly  due  to  the  influence  of  Schiller  that 
Goethe  determined  to  resume  work  upon  the  frag- 
ment of  "Faust,"  which  he  had  kept  for  many  years 
in  his  portfolio,  and  finally  published  incomplete  in 
the  edition  of  1790.  Schiller  saw  at  once  the  possi- 
bilities of  this  theme,  and  the  magnificent  dimensions 
of  the  thought  which  underlay  the  daring  conception. 
Goethe,  being  preoccupied  with  the  classical  fancies 
which  the  Italian  journey  had  revived,  was  at  first 
unwilling  to  listen  to  his  friend's  advice,  and  spoke 
disparagingly  of  the  fragment  as  something  too' 
closely  allied  with  his  Gothic  "  Storm  and  Stress " 
period,  which  he  had  now  outgrown.  So  long,  how- 
ever, did  Schiller  persevere,  that  Goethe's  interest 
was  reawakened,  the  plan  widened  and  matured,  and 
for  the  rest  of  his  life  Goethe  reserved  his  best  and 
noblest  thought  for  this  work,  fully  conscious  that 
upon  it  his  claim  to  immortality  would  rest  Still, 
it  was  not  until  1808  that  the  First  Part  finally  ap- 


34  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

peared  in  its  present  form.  In  the  meanwhile  sev- 
eral works  of  minor  consequence  occupied  Goethe's 
mind  besides  the  romance  "  Wilhelm  Meister,"  the 
fundamental  thought  of  which  is  kindred  to  that  of 
"Faust."  The  satirical  poem,  " Reynard  the  Fox," 
founded  upon  an  older  popular  model,  was  published 
in  1794  and  made  some  passing  stir,  and  a  rather 
prolix  and  uninteresting  I'omance,  entitled  "The 
Conversations  of  German  Emigrants,"  also  engaged 
his  attention.  In  1795  the  first  two  volumes  of 
"Wilhelm  Meister"  were  published,  and  were  re- 
ceived with  enthusiasm  by  some  and  with  censure 
by  many.  The  public  at  large,  being  unable  to  com- 
prehend the  philosophical  purpose  of  the  work,  were 
puzzled.  As  a  story  the  book  was  sufficiently  en- 
tertaining, but  it  hinted  everywhere  at  meanings 
which  it  did  not  fully  reveal.  It  was  obvious  that  it 
was  this  hidden  significance  which  the  author  had 
at  heart  amid  the  bewildering  panorama  of  shifting 
scenes  and  persons.  The  plot  is  altogether  too  com- 
plex to  be  unravelled  here,  but  the  philosophy  of  the 
book  may  be  briefly  stated. 

"  Wilhelm  Meister  "  aims  at  nothing  less  than  to 
portray  the  disintegration  of  feudal  society,  then  vis- 
ibly commencing  —  the  transition  from  a  feudal  to 
an  industiial  civilization.  The  nobleman's  preroga- 
tives cannot  endure  unless  they  are  founded  upon 
qualities  of  mind  and  character  which  make  him  in- 
dispensable to  the  state.  In  other  words,  it  is  a 
man's  utility  which  in  the  end  must  establish  his 
place  in  society.     All  other  distinctions  are  artificial 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  GOETHE       35 

and  evanescent.  That  society  had  not  yet  reached 
this  state  Goethe  was  well  aware,  but  he  merely 
wished  to  indicate  the  direction  which  the  develop- 
ment of  the  future  must  inevitably  take.  The  quest 
for  the  ideal  which  drives  Wilhelm  from  the  routine 
of  the  paternal  counting-house  into  a  life  of  wild 
adventure,  is  merely  the  individual  manifestation  of 
the  restless  discontent  which  animates  society  at 
large,  and  is  slowly  revolutionizing  it,  in  accordance 
with  the  changed  conditions  of  modern  life.  The 
world's  ideal,  like  that  of  Wilhelm  Meister,  is  per- 
petually changing,  and  each  achievement  in  social 
reform  is  but  a  stepping-stone  to  still  nobler  achieve- 
ments. Wilhelm,  when  young,  seeks  his  ideal  in  a 
free  and  unrestrained  life  among  actors  and  strolling 
vagabonds  ;  then  the  freedom  from  care  and  the 
commanding  position  of  a  nobleman  seem  to  offer 
the  highest  felicity,  and  at  last,  after  having  had 
this  illusion  dispelled,  he  finds  happiness  in  self- 
forgetful  devotion  to  duty.  Not  in  freedom  from 
labor,  but  in  devotion  to  labor  ;  not  in  unrestrained 
pursuit  of  pleasure,  but  in  a  well-defined  sphere  of 
daily  utility,  can  man  alone  find  happiness.  This  is 
the  lesson  of  "  Wilhelm  Meistei*,"  and  a  noble  lesson 
it  is.  The  Second  Part  of  the  book,  which  was  not 
completed  until  1821,  only  emphasizes  this  same 
moral,  though  the  moral  is  concealed  under  a  mass 
of  more  or  less  obscure  symbols,  which  often  seem 
needlessly  perplexing. 

The  first  fruit  of  Goethe's  union  with  Schiller  was 
a  series  of  satirical  epigrams,  called  "  Die  Xenien  " 


36  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

(1797).  These  were  intended  to  punish  the  enemies 
and  detractors  of  the  literary  firm  of  Goethe  & 
Schiller.  They  do  not  indeed  spare  persons,  but 
they  seem  chiefly  directed  against  what  Goethe  re- 
garded as  false  and  dangerous  tendencies  in  German 
literature  and  society ;  and  they  attack  pretence, 
charlatanism,  and  unsound  canons  of  criticism  with 
no  gentle  hand.  They  do  not  only  tear  down,  they 
also  build  up.  They  praise  what  is  noble  and  chas- 
tise what  is  ignoble.  Witty  in  the  French  sense  ai'e 
but  few  of  them  ;  but  all  of  them  have  a  weighty 
meaning. 

Immediately  in  the  wake  of  the  "  Xenien  "  followed 
the  rural  idyl,  "  Hermann  and  Dorothea  "  (1797), 
which  suddenly  revived  Goethe's  popularity  with  the 
mass  of  readers,  who,  since  his  Italian  journey,  had 
gradually  drifted  away  from  him.  It  was  as  if 
he  had  meant  to  show  them  that  he  could  be  as 
simple  and  popular  as  anybody,  if  he  chose.  Here 
was  a  story  of  German  rural  life  in  which  no  one 
had  seen  any  poetry  before,  except  Voss,  who,  in 
his  "  Luise  "  had  delivered  a  turgid  homily  in  hex- 
ameters on  the  rural  virtues.  Goethe  well  knew 
this  poem,  but  he  was  not  afraid  of  incurring  the 
charge  of  having  imitated  Voss,  because  he  knew 
that  a  literary  subject  belongs,  not  to  him  who  deals 
with  it  first,  but  to  him  who  deals  with  it  best. 
There  is  a  delightful  Homeric  flavor  in  his  hexame- 
ters ;  they  roll  and  march  along  with  splendid  reso- 
nance. In  the  characterization  of  the  Landlord  of 
the  Golden  Lion  and  his  wife  and  neighbors,  the 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  GOETHE       3/ 

same  easy  mastery  is  visible  which  gave  the  vivid 
form  and  color  to  the  features  of  Egmont,  Gotz,  and 
Werther. 

Far  less  successful,  both  in  point  of  popularity 
and  literary  excellence,  was  the  tragedy,  "The  Nat- 
ural Daughter,"  which  owed  its  origin  to  Goethe's 
excessive  admiration  of  Sophocles  and  ^schylus. 
The  types  are  here  quite  colorless — not  because 
Goethe  could  not  individualize  them,  but  from 
conscientious  motives  —  because  the  Greek  poets 
deal  merely  with  general  types  and  avoid  a  too  vivid 
individualization.  Far  more  worthy  specimens  of 
Grseco-Germanic  art  are  the  beautiful  classical  ele- 
gies," Alexis  and  Dora,"  "  Euphrosyne,"  and  "  Amyn- 
tor."  Also  a  host  of  fine,  spirited  ballads,  vigorous 
in  tone  and  exquisite  in  color,  date  from  this  period. 
Goethe  had  long  ago  discovered  the  charm  of  the 
German  folk-song,  and  had  estimated  the  poetic 
force  of  this  simple  national  strain. 

In  1805  Schiller  died,  and  Goethe  was  once  more 
alone  ;  for  among  his  neighbors  and  townsmen  he 
found  no  more  congenial  companions.  Scientific 
pursuits  began  more  and  more  to  absorb  him,  and 
the  opinion  became  prevalent  that  he  had  now 
ceased  to  be  a  poet,  and  that  his  absurd  ambition 
to  be  a  scientist  had  disqualified  him  for  further 
literary  production.  Goethe  was  not  in  the  least 
disturbed  by  these  rumors,  but  pursued  his  investi- 
gations in  botany,  geology,  and  optics  Tilth  undi- 
minished zeaX  All  the  while  he  worked  quietly  on 
"Faust"  and  his  "Doctrine  of  Color,"  and  made 


38  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

experiments  with  the  sun  spectrum — in  which  he 
believed  he  had  discovered  phenomena  which  were 
at  variance  with  the  Newtonian  theory  of  color. 
That  he  was  here  on  a  wrong  track  we  may  now 
fi-eely  admit,  but  Professor  Tyndale  asserts  that  his 
very  mistakes  afford  evidences  of  his  genius.  The 
fact  is,  he  was  in  advance  of  his  age  in  the  value  he 
attached  to  scientific  education  ;  and  having  had  no 
opportunities  for  such  education  in  his  youtb,  he 
made  up  for  what  he  had  missed  by  an  increased 
zeal  during  his  mature  years.  He  beheld  Nature  in 
her  grand  unity,  and  his  penetrating  vision  saw  the 
great  causal  chain  which  unites  her  most  varied 
phenomena.  In  tbis,  and  in  this  alone,  consisted  his 
greatness  as  a  scientist.  He  was  the  Faust  who  by 
a  daring  synthesis  brought  order  into  the  chaos  of 
dispersed  facts,  which  a  hundred  pedantic  and  pains- 
taking Wagners  had  accumulated.  The  Wagners, 
therefore,  did  not  love  him,  and  their  hostile 
opinions  made  enough  noise  in  their  day  to  reach 
as  a  faint  echo  down  to  the  present.  Never- 
theless the  scientists  of  to-day  have  recognized 
the  value  of  Goethe's  theory  of  the  typical  plant, 
and  of  the  leaf  as  the  typical  organ  of  plant  life, 
which  he  has  fully  developed  in  his  book  on  "  The 
Metamorphoses  of  Plants."  A  kindred  thought, 
applied  to  the  animal  kingdom,  led  to  the  discovery 
of  the  intei-maxillaiy  bone,  which  finally  established 
the  identity  of  the  human  skeleton  with  that  of 
other  mammals  ;  and  in  geology  to  his  champion- 
ing the  so-called  Neptunic  theory  of  the  develop- 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  GOETHE       $9 

ment  of  the  earth  against  Humboldt's  Vulcanism, 
which  attributed  to  volcanic  agencies  the  principal 
influence  in  fashioning  the  globe's  surface.  In  all 
these  controversies  he  emphasized  the  essential 
identity  of  Nature  in  all  her  phenomena  ;  the  unity 
and  organic  coherence  of  all  her  varied  life  ;  and 
he  did  not,  in  the  end,  hesitate  to  draw  the  logi- 
cal conclusion  from  these  premises,  and  declare 
himself  a  believer  in  the  theory  of  evolution,  half  a 
century  before  Darwin  had  advanced  the  same  doc- 
trine. 

All  these  heterogeneous  studies  became  tributary 
to  Goethe's  greatest  work,  "Faust "  (1790  and  1808), 
in  which  the  highest  results  of  his  colossal  knowl- 
edge are  deposited.  It  is  his  philosophy  of  life 
which  he  has  here  expounded,  under  a  wealth  of 
symbols  and  images  which  dazzle  the  eye,  and  to 
the  superficial  reader  often  obscure  the  profounder 
meaning.  To  the  majority  of  English  and  Ameri- 
can critics  "  Faust "  is  but  a  touching  and  beauti- 
ful love-story,  and  the  opinion  is  unblushingly  ex- 
pressed by  hoary  wiseacres  that  the  Second  Part  is 
a  mistake  of  Goethe's  old  age,  and  in  no  wise  worthy 
of  the  First.  If  nothing  is  worth  saying  except  that 
which  appeals  to  the  ordinary  intellect,  trained  in  the 
common  schools,  then  this  criticism  is  not  to  be 
cavilled  with  ;  but  Goethe  had  during  the  latter 
part  of  his  life  entered  a  realm  of  thought,  where  he 
was  hidden  from  the  multitude  ;  where  but  a  few 
congenial  minds  could  follow  him.  To  these  I  would 
endeavor  to  demonstrate  what  "  Faust "  means  if  the 


40  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

space  permitted  *  All  I  can  do  here  is  briefly  to  in- 
dicate the  fundamental  thought. 

Goethe  borrowed  from  Spinoza  the  daring  prop- 
osition that  God  is  responsible  for  eviL  He  under- 
took to  demonstrate  that  evil  was  not  an  after- 
thought on  the  part  of  God,  which  stole  into  His 
system  of  the  universe  by  an  unforeseen  chance, 
but  an  essential  part  of  that  system  from  the  begin- 
ning. In  other  words,  as  he  says  in  the  "  Prologue 
in  Heaven,"  God  gave  Mephistopheles  as  a  com- 
panion to  Faust.  Selfishness,  which  is  merely 
another  form  of  the  instinct  of  self-preservation,  is 
the  lever  of  the  world's  history,  and  if  a  man  were 
born  who  was  entu-ely  free  from  it,  he  would  be  un- 
able to  maintain  his  place  in  the  world  as  it  is  now 
constituted.  He  would  be  trampled  down,  and 
would  perish.  The  unrestrained  egoism  of  barbaric 
times  has  gradually  been  limited,  as  civilization  has 
advanced,  by  laws,  which  in  each  age  express  the 
average  moral  sense,  and  are  intended  to  secure  the 
preservation  of  society.  But  egoism,  though  vari- 
ously disguised  and  turned  into  useful  channels,  is 
yet  the  leading  motive  in  men's  actions — Mephis- 
topheles, though  a  most  civilized  gentleman,  is  still 
at  Faust's  elbow,  and  stimulates  him  to  daring  en- 
terprise of  which,  without  this  unlovely  companion, 
he  would  never  have  dreamed. 

Faust,  then,  is  meant  to  symbolize  mankind,  and 

*  I  may  refer  anyone  who  is  interested  in  the  subject  to 
my  book,  "  Goethe  and  Schiller,"  in  which  will  be  found  an 
exhaustive  commentary  on  "Faust." 


THE  LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  GOETHE      41 

Mephistoplieles  the  principle  of  selfishness  or  of 
evil,  in  whatever  way  disguised.  In  the  symbolic 
fable,  Mephistopheles  makes  a  wager  with  the  Lord, 
that  if  the  Lord  will  give  him  the  right  to  tempt 
Faust,  Faust  will  in  the  end  be  the  devil's.  This 
wager  is  accepted,  and  Mephistopheles  proceeds  to 
introduce  Faust  to  all  phases  of  sensual  pleasure, 
in  the  hope  of  corrupting  him.  Faust,  however, 
though  he  sins,  is  in  no  wise  corrupted.  The  love 
affair  and  the  subsequent  tragedy  with  Margaret 
are,  from  the  author's  point  of  view,  merely  epi- 
sodes in  Faust's  development,  cruel  as  it  may 
seem.  Faust,  in  his  typical  capacity,  rises  above 
the  error  which  came  near  ciippling  him,  to  higher 
phases  of  being.  His  ideal  changes ;  he  goes 
in  seai'ch  of  culture  and  intellectual  achievement. 
Mephistopheles's  attempts  to  lead  him  astray  are 
turned  directly  to  useful  purposes.  The  devil, 
who  in  the  sensual  stage  of  his  development  had 
had  a  certain  predominance  over  him,  becomes  now 
more  and  more  subservient  to  him.  Faust's  intel- 
lectual powei-s  are  especially  employed  in  statesman- 
ship and  political  activity  for  the  welfare  of  the 
state.  Then  comes  the  pursuit  of  the  beautiful, 
regarded  as  an  educational  agency,  symbolized  in 
the  quest  for  Helen  of  Troy  and  the  pilgrimage  to 
Greece.  Particularly  in  the  classical  Walpurgis 
Night  are  the  spiritual  value  and  the  ennobling  in- 
fluence of  Greek  art  emphasized.  The  last  and 
concluding  phase  of  man's  development,  which  is 
logically  derived  from  the  preceding  ones,  is  altru- 


42  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

ism — a  noble  devotion  to  humanity,  and  self-forget- 
ful labor  for  the  common  weal.  In  this  activity 
Faust  finds  happiness,  and  exclaims  to  the  flying 
moment,  "  Stay,  thou  art  so  fair." 

It  is  scarcely  necessaiy  to  add  that  "  Faust "  re- 
mained a  sealed  book  to  the  majority  of  Goethe's 
contemporaries.  Some  few  saw  the  scope  and  pur- 
pose of  the  work  and  valued  it  accordingly  ;  others 
pretended  to  understand  more  than  they  did  ;  and 
a  whole  literature  of  commentaries  was  supplied  by 
the  learned  ingenuity  and  zeal  of  the  Fatherland. 
Goethe  sat  at  home  and  smiled  at  his  critics,  but 
never  undertook  either  to  confirm  or  to  refute  their 
theories. 

In  1809  he  again  published  a  book  which  was  a 
puzzle  both  to  his  admirers  and  his  enemies.  This 
was  a  novel  entitled  "  Elective  Affinities."  He  had 
at  that  time  made  the  acquaintance  of  a  young  girl 
named  Minna  Herzlieb,  an  adopted  daughter  of  the 
bookseller  Frommann  in  Jena.  He  became  greatly 
interested  in  her,  addressed  sonnets  to  her,  and 
quite  turned  her  head.  To  be  loved  by  Goethe, 
even  though  he  was  no  longer  young,  was  a  distinc- 
tion which  no  girl  could  contemplate  with  indiffer- 
ence. Moreover  he  was,  apart  from  his  celebritj',  a 
man  of  majestic  presence  and  a  kind  of  serene 
Olympian  beauty.  Minna  Herzlieb's  parents,  fear- 
ing that  she  might  lose  her  heart,  as  she  already 
had  her  head,  made  haste  to  send  her  beyond  the 
reach  of  Goethe's  influence.  Out  of  this  relation, 
or  rather   out  of  its  possibilities,  grew  "Elective 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  GOETHE      43 

Affinities."  Goethe  was  married  to  Cliristiane, 
whose  unfortunate  propensity  for  drink  had  then 
already  developed.  Minna  was  young  and  fair,  and 
attracted  him  strongly.  Here  were  the  elements 
for  a  tragedy.  In  the  book  the  situation  is  essen- 
tially the  same,  though  Charlotte,  Edward's  wife,  is 
afflicted  with  no  vice.  It  might  be  described  as  a 
four-cornered  attachment,  in  which  everybody  loves 
the  one  he  cannot  have.  These  attachments  are  de- 
scribed by  analogy,  with  chemical  laws,  as  entirely 
irresponsible  natural  forces  which  assert  themselves 
in  the  individual  without  any  guilty  agency  of  his 
own.  The  conclusion  is,  however,  not  that  mar- 
riage, which  interferes  with  the  consummation  of 
these  elective  affinities,  is  wrong,  and  ought  to  be 
abolished.  If  there  is  any  moral  at  all  (which  is 
not  perfectly  obvious),  it  is  that  every  man  and 
woman  should  be  on  his  guard  against  such  rela- 
tions, as  they  are  sure  to  lead  to  unhappiness  and 
disaster. 

Christiane,  Goethe's  wife,  died  in  1816,  and  he 
mourned  her  sincerely.  Habit  had  bred  a  certain 
attachment,  of  which,  with  all  her  failings,  she  was 
not  entirely  undeserving.  In  her  earl}'  youth,  be- 
fore she  had  yet  assumed  the  name  of  wife,  she  had 
inspired  the  immortal  "  Roman  Elegies,"  ifa  which 
her  lover,  with  pagan  unrestraint,  had  sung  the  de- 
light of  the  senses.  She  had  been  his  associate,  too, 
in  his  botanical  studies,  and  had  assisted  him  in 
his  search  for  the  typical  plant.  But  a  wife  in  the 
noblest  sense — a  friend  and  a  companion   of  her 


44  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

husband's  higher  life — she  had  not  been  and  could 
not  have  been. 

In  the  last  decades  of  his  life,  Goethe  was  largely 
absorbed  in  scientific  researches,  and  in  arranging 
and  editing  the  labors  of  his  early  life.  Of  particu- 
lar importance  is  his  autobiography,  "  Truth  and 
Fiction "  ("  Aus  Meiuem  Leben,  Dichtung  und 
Wahrheit "),  which  relates  with  interesting  minute- 
ness that  portion  of  his  life  which  preceded  his 
removal  to  Weimar.  The  book  is  an  historical  doc- 
ument of  the  highest  importance,  though  not  invari- 
ably a  literal  recital  of  fact.  It  gives  the  intellectual 
and  moral  complexion  of  the  eighteenth  century  in 
Germany,  as  no  other  work  has  ever  done.  Also  his 
letters  from  Italy  to  Herder  and  Frau  von  Stein  he 
carefully  edited  and  collected  under  the  title 
"Italian  Journey."  Then,  as  if  by  a  miracle,  came 
a  poetic  Indian  summer,  a  fresh  flow  of  lyrical  verse, 
full  of  youthful  spontaneity  and  fervor.  This  col- 
lection, which  was  published  in  1819  under  the 
title,  "  The  West- Eastern-  Divan,"  was  a  free  imita- 
tion of  Oriental  models,  translated  into  German  by 
Hammer  Purgstall  (1813).  The  first  half  of  the 
book  is  chiefly  didactic,  while  the  latter  half  contains 
love  lyrics,  which  in  freshness  of  fancy  and  sweet- 
ness of  melody  rival  the  productions  of  Goethe's 
best  years.  A  few  of  these  poems  were  written  by 
Marianne  Willemer,  the  wife  of  a  merchant  in 
Frankfort,  and  with  her  consent  included  in  the 
collection.  She  cherished  an  ardent  admiration  for 
the  old  poet,  and  he  highly  valued  her  friendship. 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  GOETHE       45 

She  is  supposed  to  be  "  the  beloved  one  "  whom  he 
celebrates  in  the  book  of  "  Zuleika."  The  book  of 
"  Timur "  is  a  free  poetic  moralization,  concerning 
the  rise  and  fall  of  Napoleon,  disguised  in  Oriental 
forms.  "What  is  particularly  remarkable  in  these 
melodious  meditations  is  the  novelty  of  their  metres. 
Goethe  discards,  for  the  time,  the  classical  meas- 
ures in  which  his  genius  had  moved  with  such  sov- 
ereign ease,  and  adopts  the  strangely  involved  verse 
of  an  entirely  alien  civilization.  It  is  the  metrical 
forms  which  Platen,  Heine,  Riickert  and  Bodenstedt 
have  made  so  familiar  to  German  readers,  and  which 
German  poets  even  to-day  are  assiduously  cultivat- 
ing. Although  Goethe  did  not  go  into  any  such 
minute  study  of  Oriental  prosody  as,  for  instance, 
Rtickert,  yet  he  was  in  this  field,  as  in  many  other 
departments  of  literary  labor,  the  path  -  breaking 
pioneer. 

Another  work  which,  though  seemingly  unassum- 
ing, gained,  in  the  course  of  time,  much  importance 
for  the  intellectual  life  of  Germany,  was  the  "Italian 
Journey,"  which  was  given  to  the  public  in  1817. 
Altogether  this  collection  of  letters,  containing  only 
the  simplest  and  most  direct  descriptions  of  what 
the  writer  saw,  differs  widely  from  every  other 
description  of  Italy  that  has  ever  been  published. 
It  has  no  fine  writing,  and  makes  no  pretentious  dis- 
play of  knowledge.  But  for  all  that  it  is  a  model  of 
good  style.  The  words  are  absolutely  transparent, 
and  serve  no  pui-pose  but  to  convey  an  accurate 
idea  of  the  objects  described.     The  marvellously 


46  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

many-sided  knowledge  of  the  author,  and,  above  all, 
his  wholesome  and  universal  curiosity,  are  highly 
impressive.  A  fact,  whether  it  belong  to  the  realm 
of  art  or  of  nature,  or  of  political  history,  commands 
his  immediate  interest.  He  has,  at  all  times  and  in 
all  places,  a  strong,  healthful  appetite  for  facts.  On 
the  Lido,  near  Venice,  he  sits  and  contemplates 
with  a  fascinated  gaze  the  phenomena  of  marine 
life  ;  with  exactly  the  same  devotion  he  listens  to 
the  responsive  song  of  the  fishermen  across  the 
lagoons,  or  studies  the  architecture  of  Palladio  and 
the  paintings  of  Rafael  and  Titian.  The  Adriatic, 
with  its  blue  isles  reflected  in  the  sun-bathed  waves, 
furnishes  him  with  a  setting  for  the  Homeric  epics, 
and  Homeric  life  becomes  clear  to  him,  by  analogy, 
from  the  study  of  the  physical  conditions  of  the  old 
Magna  Grsecia.  In  eveiy  direction  his  comment  is 
pregnant  with  new  meaning.  He  throws  out,  with 
heedless  prodigality,  seed-corns  of  thought,  and  they 
fall  into  good  soil  and  bear  finiit  a  hundred  and  a 
thousand  fold  in  the  distant  futui*e. 

Of  Goethe's  other  autobiographical  works,  "  Truth 
and  Fiction  "  is  the  most  important.  The  title  is 
significant,  because  it  implies  that  the  author  does 
not  mean  to  tie  himself  down  to  the  narration  of  the 
mere  barren  details  of  his  life,  but  reserves  for  him- 
self the  right  of  artistic  arrangement  and  poetical 
interpretation.  It  has,  indeed,  been  proved  that  he 
has  now  and  again  reversed  the  sequence  of  events, 
where  a  more  poetic  effect  could  be  attained,  at  the 
expense  of  the  true  chronology.     It  was  his  pui-pose 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  GOETHE       4/ 

to  emphasize  the  organic  coherence  of  his  life ;  its 
continuous  and  unbroken  development,  according  to 
certain  laws  which  presided  over  his  destiny.  His 
father  and  mother  (upon  whom  he  bestows  the  mi- 
nutest description)  being  what  they  were,  and  the 
environment  of  his  early  life  (which  he  likewise  de- 
picts with  the  most  painstaking  exactness)  being 
what  it  was,  it  was  natural  and  necessary  that  he 
should  become  what  he  was.  This  seems  to  be  the 
sum  and  moral  of  the  whole.  Law  and  organic 
evolution  were  the  watchwords  of  his  life.  All  that 
was  accidental  and  appeared  miraculous  interested 
him  only  as  an  incentive  to  find  in  it  the  hidden 
law.  So  in  every  science  which  he  approached  his 
touch  seemed  creative — it  brought  order  out  of 
chaos.  The  slow  and  beautiful  processes  of  the 
earth's  cooling  and  preparation  for  the  habitation  of 
living  creatures,  the  gradual  growth  and  decay  of 
the  mountains,  and  the  uses  of  all  these  agencies  in 
the  grand  cosmic  economy — these  were  things  which 
in  the  latter  half  of  his  career  most  profoundly  ab- 
sorbed him.  He  loved  to  gather  about  him  scien- 
tific specialists,  and  to  hear  from  them  the  latest 
results  of  their  investigations.  As  his  isolation  in 
Weimar  grew  more  complete,  he  came  to  depend 
almost  entirely  upon  such  company  as  he  could  find 
in  travelling  artists  and  scientists.  As  an  instance 
of  his  interest  in  scientific  questions,  an  anecdote 
related  by  his  friend  Soret  is  highly  characteristic. 
In  the  first  days  of  August,  1830,  Weimar  was  agi- 
tated by  the  intelligence  which  had  just  arrived  from 


48  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Paris  of  the  breaking  out  of  the  July  Kevolution. 
Soret  hurried  to  Goethe  to  discuss  the  political  situ- 
ation with  him.  The  moment  Goethe  saw  him  he 
exclaimed  :  "  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  this  gx*eat 
event?  The  volcano  has  at  last  come  to  eruption  ; 
everything  is  in  flames,  and  there  is  no  longer  any 
question  of  debate  behind  closed  doors." 

"It  is  a  terrible  story,"  answered  Soret,  "but 
what  was  to  be  expected  under  such  conditions  and 
with  such  a  ministry,  except  that  it  would  have  to 
end  with  the  expulsion  of  the  royal  family  ?  " 

Goethe  stared  in  the  utmost  astonishmeni  "We 
seem  to  misunderstand  each  other,  my  dear,"  he 
said,  after  a  moment's  pause  ;  "  I  am  not  talking  of 
those  people.  What  interests  me  is  quite  a  different 
affair.  I  am  referring  to  the  quarrel  which  has  just 
broken  out  in  the  Academy  between  Cuvier  and 
Geoffroy  St.  Hilaire,  which  is  of  the  utmost  signi- 
ficance to  science.  The  matter  is  of  the  highest  im- 
portance," he  continued,  after  another  pause,  "  and 
you  can  have  no  idea  of  the  feelings  which  the  ses- 
sion of  July  19th  has  aroused  in  me.  We  have  now 
in  St.  Hilaire  a  mighty  ally  for  a  long  time  to  come. 
.  .  .  The  best  of  all,  however,  is  that  the  synthe- 
tic treatment  of  nature,  introduced  by  him  in  France, 
can  now  no  more  be  overthrown." 

It  is  to  me  a  most  sublime  trait,  this  lofty  scien- 
tific absorption.  Wai'S  and  revolutions  and  expul- 
sions of  kings  are  of  small  consequence  compared  to 
the  great  eternal  laws  which  hold  the  planets  in  their 
spheres,  and  guide  the  progressive  march  of  God's 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  GOETHE      49 

vast  creation.  Cuvier  held  that  a  series  of  violent 
catastrophes  had  taken  place  in  the  earth's  history, 
sharply  separating  each  geologic  age  from  the  sub- 
sequent and  the  preceding  one.  St.  Hilaire,  on  the 
other  hand,  defended  Goethe's  proposition,  that  the 
development  of  the  earth  and  its  life  had  been  an 
uninterrupted  sequence  of  progressive  stages.  How 
deeply  Goethe  felt  upon  this  subject  is  further  evi- 
dent from  his  remark  to  Chancellor  von  Miiller : 
"About  aesthetic  matters  everyone  may  tLink  and 
feel  as  he  likes,  but  in  natural  science  the  false  and 
the  absurd  are  absolutely  unendurable."  "This' 
fi'iend,"  he  remarked  on  the  same  occasion,  referring 
to  Alexander  von  Humboldt,  who,  as  he  thought, 
had  given  undue  weight  to  volcanic  agencies,  "  has, 
in  fact,  never  had  any  higher  method  ;  only  much 
common  sense,  zeal,  and  persistence." 

Goethe's  attitude  toward  politics,  and  particularly 
toward  the  efforts  of  his  countrymen  to  throw  off  the 
Napoleonic  yoke,  has  been  the  subject  of  much 
heated  controversy'.  The  fact  is,  he  was  a  German 
only  in  name  ;  because  the  German  nationality  was 
in  his  day  not  yet  resuscitated.  In  the  free  city  of 
Frankfort,  where  Goethe  spent  his  childhood  and 
early  youth,  there  existed  no  such  feeling  as  national 
pride  and  patriotism.  A  kind  of  local  town-feeling 
was  quite  pronounced,  and  Goethe  had  his  share  of 
it.  But  the  miserable  separatistic  policy  of  the  petty 
German  princes  had  begun  to  bear  fruit  long  ago, 
and  had  extinguished  all  sense  of  responsibihty 
to  the  empire  at  large  and  all  devotion  to  the  com- 


50  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

mon  nationality.  Where  there  is  no  national  life 
there  can  be  no  patriotism.  It  is  responsibility 
which  engenders  devotion.  When,  finally.  Na- 
poleon's tyranny  awakened  this  sentiment  in  the 
hearts  of  the  scattered  and  dismembered  nation, 
Goethe  was  too  old  to  be  affected  by  it.  "  Shake 
your  fetters,"  he  exclaimed  to  his  struggling  coun- 
try men,  "  you  cannot  break  them.  The  man  is  too 
strong  for  you." 

That  such  language  was  resented  by  a  bleeding 
people,  fighting  for  its  existence,  is  not  to  be  won- 
dered at.  At  the  same  time  the  apparent  indiffer- 
ence of  Goethe  was  not  as  serious  a  reflection  upon 
his  character  as  his  friends  then  assumed.  He  was 
essentially  a  child  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  had 
imbibed  its  individuahsm.  All  he  demanded  of  the 
state  was  the  right  to  pursue  his  o^vn  avocations  in 
peace  ;  and  anything  that  broke  in  upon  his  Uterary 
and  scientific  meditation  (even  though  it  were  a  war 
of  liberation)  he  was  apt  to  resent  as  an  intrusioru 
In  1806,  when,  after  the  battle  of  Jena,  the  French 
plundered  Weimar  and  the  grenadiers  stormed  in- 
to his  bedroom,  he  had  a  taste  of  the  tribulations 
of  war,  and  a  deep  horror  of  its  terrific  waste  of  life 
and  barbarizing  influence  took  possession  of  him. 
He  stood  no  longer  then,  as  he  did  in  the  campaign 
in  France  in  1792,  watching  the  bursting  shells  with 
a  purely  scientific  interest,  taking  down  his  obser- 
vations in  his  note-book.  The  fiery  rain  was  no 
longer  a  mere  experiment  in  optics. 

Goethe  has  somewhere  remarked,   that  all   his 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  GOETHE       5 1 

■writings  are  one  continued  confession.  His  life  en- 
tered into  bis  work  ;  every  experience  became  trans- 
fused into  bis  very  life-blood,  and  gained  in  time  a 
poetic  expression.  Only  war  remained  so  repug- 
nant to  bim  tbat  be  nowbere  felt  called  upon  to  in- 
terpret tbe  emotion  wbicb  it  aroused. 

"  How  could  I  take  up  arms,"  be  said  to  Soret, 
"  witbout  batred  ?  and  bow  could  I  bate  witbout 
youtb  ?  If  sucb  an  emergency  bad  befallen  me  wben 
I  was  twenty  years  old,  I  sbould  certainly  not  bave 
been  the  last.  ...  To  write  military  songs  and 
sit  in  my  room  !  Tbat,  for  sootb,  was  my  duty  ! 
To  bave  written  them  in  tbe  bivouac,  wbile  tbe 
horses  of  the  enemy's  outposts  are  beard  neighing 
in  the  night,  would  bave  been  well  enough  !  .  .  . 
But  I  am  no  warlike  nature,  and  bave  no  warlike 
sense ;  war-songs  would  bave  been  a  mask  which 
would  have  fitted  my  face  badly.  I  bave  never  affect- 
ed anything  in  poetry.  I  have  never  uttered  anything 
which  I  have  not  experienced,  and  which  has  not 
urged  me  to  production.  I  bave  composed  love- 
songs  wben  I  loved.  How  could  I  write  songs  of 
hate  without  hating  ?  " 

I  have  akeady  alluded  to  the  fact  that  Goethe  in 
his  old  age  found  himself  isolated  from  tbe  society 
of  friends  and  neighbors.  Altogether,  bis  relations 
with  his  great  contemporaries  need  a  word  of  com- 
ment. His  friendship  with  Schiller,  as  we  have 
seen,  remained  uninterrupted  to  tbe  end  ;  and  with 
Wieland,  who  was  a  cheerful,  easy-going  epicurean, 
he  also  remained  on  amicable  terms.     But  Wielaud 


52  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

had  never  been  very  near  to  bim  ;  and  a  friendly  ac- 
quaintance will  take  care  of  itself  much  more  easily 
than  a  closer  intimacy.  With  Herder,  on  the  other 
band,  who  in  natural  endowment  was  a  worthier 
rival  to  Goethe  than  the  prolific  author  of  "Oberon," 
be  had  many  misunderstandings  which,  finally,  after 
the  Vulpius  a£fair,  led  to  a  lasting  alienation.  Her- 
der was,  with  all  his  great  qualities,  testy  and  irri- 
table, and  could  not  conquer  a  certain  envy  of  Goe- 
the. He  had  largely  influenced  Goethe's  intellectual 
life,  and  therefore  resented  his  pupil's  tendency  to 
grow  above  bis  bead.  That  he  protested  against 
Goethe's  liaison  is  certainly  to  his  honor  ;  and  Goe- 
the would  have  saved  himself  and  his  posterity  much 
unbappiness  bad  be  heeded  Herder's  advice.  On 
the  whole,  it  is  obvious  that  Goethe,  as  be  grew  to 
bis  full  intellectual  stature,  no  longer  desired  rela- 
tions of  personal  intimacy.  He  valued  this  friend 
for  his  proficiency  in  this  branch  of  knowledge,  and 
that  friend  for  bis  proficiency  in  another  ;  but  he 
took  pains,  as  it  were,  to  confine  each  man  to  bis 
own  department,  in  which  be  was  likely  to  be  useful 
and  intei'esting.  Even  men  with  blots  upon  their 
reputations  he  invited  to  bis  house,  if  be  had  respect 
for  their  acquirements.  But  let  them  beware,  if 
they  desired  to  continue  on  an  amicable  footing,  not 
to  stray  beyond  their  respective  departments.  Even 
in  bis  relation  to  the  duke,  Karl  August,  Goethe 
maintained  in  later  years  a  reserve,  which  so  old 
and  tried  a  friend  might  have  felt  justified  in  resent- 
ing.    But  the  duke  understood  Goethe,  and  thought 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF   GOETHE       53 

his  attitude  natural.  He  found  him  a  useful  and 
highly  ornamental  figure  in  his  small  duchy ;  and 
did  everything  in  his  power  to  further  the  objects 
for  which  he  lived.  Perhaps  he  even  liked  the 
stately  reserve  of  the  old  poet.  "  As  genuine  grands 
seigneurs"  says  Grimm,  "  they  walked  side  by  side, 
and  the  distance  which  separated  them  was  exactly 
to  their  tastes.  .  .  .  From  haviug  been  friends 
Goethe  and  the  Duke  became  allies." 

During  the  last  years  of  his  life  it  was  chiefl}''  the 
second  part  of  "Faust"  and  his  periodical  "For 
Art  and  Antiquity  "  which  occupied  Goethe.  Like 
the  aged  Faust,  he  marched  serenely  toward  the 
Valley  of  the  Shadow  of  Death,  cheerfully  awaiting 
whatever  fate  there  might  be  in  store  for  him  : 

*'  Yes,  let  me  dare  those  gates  to  fling  asunder, 
Which  every  man  would  fain  go  slinking  by ! 
'Tis  time  through  deeds  this  word  of  truth  to  thunder : 
That  with  the  height  of  gods  man's  dignity  may  vie ! 
Nor  from  that  gloomy  gulf  to  shrink  affrighted 
Where  Fancy  damns  herself  to  self- wrought  woes. 

Upon  this  step  with  cheerful  heart  resolving, 

If  even  into  naught  the  risk  were  of  dissolving."  * 

His  activity  was  as  many-sided  and  unwearied  as 
in  his  most  vigorous  manhood.  Not  only  the  scien- 
tific, but  also  the  literary  currents  of  thought  in  all 
civilized  lands  he  watched  with  the  liveliest  interest. 
So  great  was  the  elasticity  of  his  mind,  that  he  was 

♦  Faust,  Part  I. 


54  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

in  his  old  age  capable  of  appreciating  what  was  good 
in  the  Romantic  school,  in  spite  of  his  former  dislike 
and  his  diametrically  opposed  intellectual  tendency. 
The  reactionary  spirit  of  the  Romanticists,  and  their 
enthusiasm  for  the  Middle  Ages,  remained  as  re- 
pugnant to  Goethe  as  ever ;  and  their  morbid 
mysticism  and  predilection  for  Catholicism  did  not 
commend  them  to  one  to  whom  the  cheerful  sensu- 
ousness  and  innate  saneness  of  the  Greek  civilization 
had  always  strongly  appealed.  But  the  efforts  of 
the  Romantic  authors  to  revive  the  feeling  for  native 
art  seemed  to  him  praiseworthy ;  and  Sulpiz  Bois- 
seree,  who  was  laboring  earnestly  for  the  restoration 
of  the  Cologne  Cathedral,  succeeded  in  convincing 
him  of  the  national  importance  of  his  undertaking. 
The  drawings  and  paintings  of  Albrecht  Diirer  also 
began  to  impress  him,  and  his  attitude  toward  the 
Middle  Ages  underwent  a  gradual  change. 

As  the  years  progressed,  the  effects  of  Goethe's 
activity  began  to  be  felt  also  in  foreign  lands,  and 
he  watched  with  interest  and  gratification  his  grow- 
ing influence  in  every  domain  of  human  knowledge. 
Particularly  in  France,  a  school  of  rising  authors, 
which  also  assumed  the  title  of  Romantic,  strove 
through  its  organ,  The  Globe,  to  establish  his 
authority  beyond  the  Rhine.  Although  undoubt- 
edly with  the  ulterior  object  of  gaining  a  mighty 
ally  against  their  enemies  at  home — the  Academi- 
cians— these  men,  among  whom  Quinet,  Ampere,  and 
Prosper  Merimee  were  the  most  prominent,  paid 
their  homage  to  the  German  poet,  and,  in  spite  of 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF   GOETHE       55 

their  defective  comprehension  of  the  spirit  of  his 
teachings,  contributed  not  a  Httle  toward  bringing 
his  writings  to  the  notice  of  the  French  pubHc.  In 
England  also  his  writings  were  published,  and  com- 
mented upon  with  more  or  less  intelligence  in 
newspapers  and  reviews.  Carlyle  translated  "Wil- 
helm  Meister,"  Walter  Scott  "Gutz  von  Berlich- 
ingen"  (1799),  and  Byron  borrowed  his  ideas  with 
his  usual  nonchalance.  In  Italy,  too,  he  gained 
many  admirers,  and  entertained  a  desultory  cor- 
respondence with  Manzoni.  The  ready  recognition 
which  he  thus  found  on  all  hands  gradually  devel- 
oped in  him  the  idea  of  a  world  literature,  which, 
independently  of  race  and  country,  should  appeal  to 
the  highest  sense  of  excellence,  which  the  most  cult- 
ured in  all  countries  have  in  common.  He  had 
himself  gathered"  the  chief  intellectual  currents  of 
his  age,  and  made  them  pulsate  through  his  own 
being.  National  differences  and  conflicting  inter- 
ests, which  drew  the  peoples  apart,  seemed  to  him 
of  small  consequence  compared  to  the  great  and 
abiding  interests  which  all  mankind  has  in  common. 
Truth  has  no  nationality,  and  a  great  thought  is 
great  in  whatever  language  it  is  uttered.  In  the 
upper  regions  of  the  intellect  men  meet  merely  as 
men — as  poets,  thinkers,  scientists — and  all  acci- 
dental distinctions  of  party,  rank,  and  nationality 
vanish.  The  ancient  Greeks,  who  were  the  only 
people  whose  culture  had  been  founded  upon  this 
universally  human  basis,  would  always  remain 
authorities  in  matters  of  art.     They  ^Yere  not  to  be 


56  GERMAISr  LU'ERATURE 

imitated,  however,  but  the  spirit  of  their  work,  if 
properly  compi-ehended,  would  stimulate  the  modem 
poet  and  artist  to  noble  and  independent  creation. 

Thus,  in  brief,  was  Goethe's  poetic  creed.  His 
prophecy  of  the  world-literature  is,  however,  yet  far 
from  fulfilment. 

During  the  last  years  of  Goethe's  life  death  reaped 
a  rich  harvest  among  those  who  were  dearest  to 
him.  In  June,  1828,  died  his  oldest  friend,  Duke 
Karl  August.  Frau  von  Stein  had  died  a  few  years 
before  (1825).  But  the  hardest  blow  of  all  was  the 
loss  of  his  only  son,  August  von  Goethe,  who  died 
in  Rome  in  1830.  His  daughter-in-law  Ottilia  re- 
mained his  faithful  companion  and  did  the  honors 
of  his  household.  She  read  aloud  to  him  from 
Plutarch  who  was  one  of  his  favorite  authors.  To 
Eckermann  he  said  as  he  sealed  the  package  contain- 
ing the  completed  MS.  of  "  Faust "  :  "  Henceforth  I 
look  upon  my  life  purely  as  a  gift ;  it  is  now  really 
of  little  consequence  what  I  do." 

A  few  months  later  (March  22,  1832),  as  he  was 
seated  in  his  easy-chair,  suffering  from  a  slight  cold, 
he  expired  quietly  and  without  a  struggle.  His  last 
words  were  :  "  Light !  more  light !  " 

"  The  morning  after  Goethe's  death,"  says  Ecker- 
mann, "  a  deep  desire  seized  me  to  look  upon  his 
earthly  remains.  His  faithful  servant  Frederick 
opened  for  me  the  chamber  where  he  was  lying. 
Stretched  upon  his  back,  he  reposed  as  if  asleep ; 
profound  peace  and  firmness  reigned  in  the  features 
of  his  sublime,   noble  countenance.     The  mighty 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  GOETHE       5/ 

brow  seemed  yet  to  harbor  thoughts.  .  .  .  The 
body  lay  naked,  only  wrapped  in  a  winding-sheet. 
.  .  .  The  servant  drew  aside  the  sheet,  and  I 
marvelled  at  the  divine  magnificence  of  those  limbs. 
The  breast  was  extraordinarily  powerful,  broad  and 
arched  ;  the  arms  and  thighs  were  full  and  softly 
muscular  ;  the  feet  shapely  and  of  the  purest  form  ; 
nowhere  on  the  whole  body  was  there  any  trace  of 
fat,  or  leanness,  or  decay.  A  perfect  man  lay  in 
great  beauty  before  me  ;  and  the  rapture  occasioned 
by  this  sight  made  me  forget  for  a  moment  that  the 
immortal  spirit  had  left  such  an  abode.  I  placed 
my  hand  on  his  heart ;  there  was  a  deep  stillness, 
and  I  turned  away  to  give  free  vent  to  my  sup- 
pressed tears." 

It  is  difficult  to  over-estimate  the  value  of  Goe- 
the's work  to  humanity.  The  bequest  which  he  left 
to  the  world  in  his  writings,  and  in  the  whole  intel- 
lectual result  of  his  life,  is  not  as  yet  appreciated  at 
its  full  worth  ;  because,  intellectually,  the  world  has 
not  yet  caught  up  with  him.  His  influence  to-day 
asserts  itself  in  a  hundred  ways — even  where  no  one 
suspects  it.  The  century  has  received  the  impress 
of  his  mighty  personality.  The  intellectual  currents 
of  the  age,  swelled  and  amplified  by  later  tribu- 
taiies,  flow  to-day  in  the  directions  which  Goethe 
indicated. 


II. 

GOETHE  AND  CARLYLE 

THE  German  Goethe-worship  is  usually  regarded 
in  Great  Britain  with  alien  and  unsympathetic 
eyes.  It  suffices  for  most  English  critics  that  Goethe 
was  not,  according  to  their  standard,  a  good  man ; 
that  he  was  not  faithful  in  his  relations  with  women, 
and  that  he  was  not,  in  the  accepted  sense,  a  patriot 
during  his  country's  struggle  to  throw  off  the  French 
yoke.  We  might  as  well  concede  that  these  charges 
contain  a  modicum  of  truth.  •  As  the  defence  which 
the  Goethe-worshipper  would  set  up  would  have  no 
weight  with  the  great  public,  because  it  would  have 
to  appeal  to  sentiments  which  belong  only  to  a  small 
minority,  it  is  far  better  to  admit  that  in  his  efforts 
at  intellectual  enfranchisement  Goethe  ignored  all 
laws  that  seemed  to  interfere  with  his  supx'eme  aim 
of  self-development.  An  elaborate  apology  for  him, 
addressed  to  the  English  Philistine,  has  been  pub- 
lished by  the  late  George  H.  Lewes,  under  the  title, 
"The  Life  of  Goethe,"  which  gives  us  valuable  in- 
formation as  to  what  George  H.  Lewes  would  have 
done,  if  he  had  been  Goethe,  in  the  various  relations 
of  the  latter's  life.     I  know  but  one  Englishman  who 


GOETHE  AND   CAKLYLE  59 

understood  Goethe,  and  he  (to  use  Hegel's  phrase) 
misunderstood  him  ;  that  is,  he  had  vivid  glimpses 
of  him,  saw  him  iu  part  very  clearly,  but  in  other 
and  very  essential  respects  misapprehended  him. 
That  man  was  Thomas  Carlyle.  Carlyle,  too,  com- 
menced in  an  apologetic  tone,  but  stated  more  satis- 
factorily than  Lewes  the  positive  contents  of  his. 
hero's  life  and  the  lessons  which^were  to  be  derived 
from  it.  When  Bayard  Taylor  called  upon  him,  a  few 
years  before  his  death,  and  asked  him  his  opinion  of 
Goethe,  he  answered  with  his  most  rasping  Scotch 
accent :  "  That  man  was  my  salvation."  In  none  of 
his  essays  on  Goethe  has  Carlyle  so  plainly  shown 
what  he  meant  by  this  strong  expression  as  in  the 
eleventh  lecture,  on  "Periods  of  European  Culture," 
a  most  interesting  fragment  of  which  is  published  in 
Professor  Dowden's  "  Transcripts  and  Studies."  He 
there  gives  his  conception  of  the  message — the  in- 
tellectual gospel— which  German  literature  brought 
him,  and  which  for  half  a  century  he  tried  to  explain 
and  to  impress  upon  the  British  public.  But  until 
this  day  no  other  prophet  has  arisen  in  Great  Britain 
who  has  thought  that  gospel  worth  commenting 
upon  in  the  same  spirit  which  characterized  Carlyle. 
The  Chelsea  sage  was  by  nature  a  hero  worship- 
per, but  so  ruthless  and  self-assertive  in  his  inter- 
course with  his  idols  that  he  often  remodelled  them 
to  suit  himself  before  deeming  them  worthy  of  his 
worship.  And  so,  though  he  was  scarcely  aware  of 
it,  he  made  a  Goethe  of  his  own  who,  to  be  sure,  had 
much  in  common  with  the  original,  but  was  yet  es- 


60  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

sentially  a  different  being.  Rarely  was  a  critical  ob- 
servation wider  of  the  mark  than  Carlyle's  :  that  Goe- 
the leaves  no  more  trace  of  himself  in  his  writings 
than  does  Shakespeare.  Apart  from  the  fact  that 
Goethe  has  himself  remarked  that  his  writings  are 
one  continued  confession,  there  is  in  every  one  of 
his  novels  and  dramas  a  mass  of  that  sort  of  material 
which  no  imagination  invents,  however  ingenious  and 
fertile.  There  is  on  every  page  inferential  evidence 
that  we  are  dealing  with  more  or  less  thinly  dis- 
guised autobiography.  "  Dichtung  und  Wahrheit " 
was,  to  be  sure,  not  published  (in  its  completed  form) 
until  after  Goethe's  death,  and  Carlyle  had  probably 
more  excuse  for  his  error  than  a  man  would  have 
who  should  repeat  it  at  the  present  day.  But  the 
fact  is  incontestable  that  Carlyle's  essays  contain  as 
much  of  Carlyle  as  of  Goethe.  He  was  too  gnarled 
and  thorny  a  personality,  too  little  pliable,  too  biis- 
tling  with  Scotch  pugnacity  to  be  a  good  interpreter 
of  anybody.  And  from  Goethe  he  was  intellectually 
and  spiritually  more  remote  than  he  dreamed  of. 
How  could  that  modern  prophet,  full  of  humility, 
despair,  and  fiery  denunciation,  comprehend  the 
calm  and  self -poised  secularism  of  the  German  poet  ? 
How  could  his  gloomy  Scotch  theology  be  brought 
into  a  sympathetic  relation  with  the  sunny  and  cheer- 
ful paganism  of  his  hero  ?  Their  recently  published 
correspondence,  which  was  expected  to  furnish  a  clew 
to  their  relations,  deals  largely  with  externalities,  ex- 
changes of  gifts  and  small  courtesies,  and  comments 
on  books  and  authors. 


GOETHE  AND   CARLYLE  6 1 

Goethe,  indeed,  is  full  of  friendliness,  sends  greet- 
ings and,  what  is  to  me  delightfully  characteristic, 
asks  for  a  drawing  of  Carlyle's  house  at  Craigenput- 
tock,  because,  he  says,  he  does  not  like,  when  he 
visits  his  friends  in  thought,  to  let  his  fancy  hover 
in  vacuum.  He  is  even  particular  to  know  whether 
the  house  lies  on  the  right  or  the  left  bank  of  the 
river  Nith.  When  Carlyle  lived  in  Edinburgh,  he 
vyrites,  he  never  ventured  to  imagine  his  surround- 
ings ;  for  how  could  he  hope  "  to  find  a  quiet  friend 
in  that  steeply  towering  city,  which,  in  spite  of 
frequent  pictures,  continued  to  perplex  him?"  Car- 
lyle, who  is  visibly  touched  by  this  minute  interest 
(which,  I  fancy,  he  scarcely  attributed  to  its  right 
source),  replies  at  considerable  length  and  in  a  freer 
and  more  confidential  tone  than  we  find  in  any  of 
his  previous  letters.  Altogether  he  reveals  himself 
here  in  a  vivid  light ;  and  it  is  a  frank,  rugged  soul 
of  sterling  stuff  which  he  shows  to  the  serene,  clear- 
sighted old  Jupiter  in  Weimar.  How  fine  is  this, 
for  instance,  and  what  a  ring  of  sincerity  there  is  in 
it:  "I  came  hither  (to  Craigenputtock)  purely  for 
this  one  reason  :  that  I  might  not  have  to  write  for 
bread,  might  not  be  tempted  to  tell  lies  for  money." 

And  still  nobler  this  passage  appears  to  me  in  con- 
junction with  what  precedes  and  what  follows.  The 
temptation  must  have  presented  itself  to  show  the 
extent  of  his  sacrifice  in  forsaking  the  brilliant 
literary  society  of  Edinburgh  and  burying  himself 
here  on  a  bleak  and  melancholy  moor  fifteen  miles 
from  a  town  and  "six  miles  from  any  individual 


62  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

of  the  formally  visiting  class."  But  Carlyle  scorns 
such  weakness.  He  describes  Craigenputtock  with 
a  desire  to  show  its  best  side,  and  he  makes  the  most 
of  such  poor  attractions  as  the  place  affords.  How 
different  Craigenputtock  appears  in  the  letters  of 
his  wife  to  Miss  Stodart,  of  Edinburgh.  There  it  is 
described  (in  the  writer's  pleasant  moods)  as  being 
"in  the  midst  of  a  pretty  extensive  peat-moor;" 
and  its  attractions  consist  in  occasional  visits  from 
wild  hares  and  black-cocks  ;  but  in  her  gloomier 
moments,  though  she  strives  to  keep  a  brave  heart, 
she  refers  to  it  as  "a  desert "  belonging  to  "the 
class  of  bog  and  hiU  scenery,  and  has  little  but 
heath  and  winstone  and  peat-pits  to  recommend  it." 
The  following  passage  in  Mrs.  Carlyle's  letter  to  Miss 
Stodard  of  October  10,  1832,  shows  plainly  what  a 
price  her  husband  paid  for  his  exemption  from  the 
necessity  of  writing  for  bread  and  "  the  temptation 
to  tell  lies  for  money  :  " 

"  The  grim  prospect  of  another  winter  in  this  soli- 
tude is  too  frightful  for  my  husband,  who  finds  that 
it  is  absolutely  essential,  for  caiTying  on  not  only 
his  craft,  but  his  existence,  to  hear  from  time  to 
time  a  little  human  speech." 

Under  such  circumstances  the  frequent  letters  and 
messages  from  Goethe  must  have  been  doubly  grate- 
ful. In  recalling,  forty  yeai'S  later,  the  joy  he  ex- 
perienced at  the  receipt  of  one  of  these  Olympian 
missives  (of  June  25,  1829),  he  expresses  himself  in 
this  wise  :  "Pure  white  the  fine  big  sheet  itself,  still 
purer  and  nobler  the  meaning,  all  in  it  as  if  mutely 


GOETHE  AND   CARLYLE  6^ 

pointing  to  eternity ;  letter  fit  to  be  read  in  such 
a  place  and  time."  But  unless  Carlyle  was  exalted 
above  all  human  vanities,  this  very  letter  mast  have 
wounded  his  literary  pride  by  its  omission  of  any 
reference  to  his  essay  in  The  Foreign  Review, 
which  he  had  sent  to  Goethe  with  man}'  apologies, 
to  be  sure,  for  his  defective  knowledge,  but  yet 
obviously  expecting  some  acknowledgment.  But  it 
is  significant  to  note  that  in  every  instance  Goethe 
refrains  from  direct  comment  upon  his  friend's 
writings  concerning  himself.  He  makes  Lis  con- 
venient factotum  Eckermann  acknowledge  the  re- 
ceipt of  such  documents  and  expatiate  upon  their 
excellence  without  in  the  least  committing  his  su- 
perior. Thus  it  is  Eckermann  who  praises  Carlyle's 
non-committal  essay  on  "Helena,"  in  which  he 
gives  a  clear  and  coherent  account  of  the  plot  of  the 
"  Classico  -  Eomantic  Phantasmagoria,"  but  care- 
fully refrains  from  dropping  a  hint  as  to  its  mean- 
ing. It  is  Eckermann,  too,  who  encourages  Carlyle 
to  undertake  an  English  translation  of  "  Faust," 
although  it  is  not  likely  that  he  would  have  made 
such  a  proposition  on  his  own  responsibility.  It  is 
a  matter  for  congi-atulation  that  Carlyle  knew  the 
limitations  of  his  talent  too  well  to  act  upon  this 
advice.  For  though  Lord  Leveson  Gower's  trans- 
lation (of  which  Eckermann  complains)  is  bad, 
there  is  very  little  ground  for  believing  that  Car- 
lyle's would  have  been  better.  His  specimen  trans- 
lations of  "Helena"  have  a  gnarled  Saxon  rugged- 
ness  which  is  as  far  as  possible  removed  from  the 


64  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

pure  plasticity  and  sculpturesque  clearness  of  the 
original. 

More  satisfactory  than  the  discourse  on  "Helena" 
is  the  essay  on  "  Goethe  "  in  The  Foreign  BevieiOf 
the  receipt  of  which  Eckermann  acknowledges  with 
the  diplomatic  observation  that  "it  has  aroused 
great  interest  in  Germany."  Carlyle  here  intends 
to  explain  to  the  British  public  the  character  and 
significance  of  Goethe's  life  and  manifold  activity. 
It  is  obvious  in  the  very  first  sentences  that  he  is 
conscious  of  the  magnitude  of  his  task.  There  is 
something  dreadfully  labored  and  clumsily  apolo- 
getic in  these  introductory  remarks  : 

"It  is  not  on  this  second  portion  of  Goethe's 
works,  which,  at  any  rate,  contains  nothing  new  to 
us,  that  we  mean  at  present  to  dwell.  In  our  last 
number  we  engaged  to  make  some  survey  of  his 
writings  and  character  in  general,  and  must  now  en- 
deavor, with  such  insight  as  we  have,  to  fulfil  that 
promise.  We  have  already  said  that  we  reckoned 
this  no  unimportant  subject,  and  few  of  Goethe's 
readers  need  to  be  reminded  that  it  is  no  easy  one. 
We  hope  also  that  our  pretensions  in  regard  to  it  are 
not  exorbitant,"  etc. 

To  begin  in  this  style  an  essay  on  the  greatest 
poet  of  the  century,  the  most  splendidly  equipped  in- 
tellect of  modem  times,  if  not  of  all  times,  strikes 
one  to-day  as  almost  comical.  But  it  would  be  un- 
just to  the  essayist  to  judge  him  by  the  light  of  our 
present  knowledge.  He,  no  doubt,  felt  the  neces- 
sity of  apologizing  to  his  spiritually  insulated  coun- 


GOETHE  AND   CARLYLE  65 

trymen  for  occupying  their  time  and  attention  with 
the  claims  of  a  mere  German  to  be  regarded  as  one 
of  the  great  luminaries  in  the  realm  of  thought. 
How,  conceding  the  fact  that  Goethe  was  neither 
an  Englishman  nor  an  ancient  Greek,  could  Carlyle 
have  the  presumption  to  set  forth  such  claims  and 
eloquently  defend  them  ?  He  feels  in  every  line  the 
weight,  if  not  the  justice,  of  such  a  query,  and  he  seta 
to  work  bravely  to  clear  away  the  thorny  under- 
brush of  prejudice  which  obscures  his  subject  from 
view.  We  learn  incidentally  that  Goethe's  works, 
in  such  fragmentary  translations  as  had  appeared, 
had  not  been  a  success  in  England,  and  that  par- 
ticularly the  autobiography  had  given  offence  in  not 
being  sufficiently  "  gentlemanly." 

"  The  chief  ground  of  offence  seemed  to  be  that 
the  story  was  not  noble  enough  ;  that  it  entered  on 
details  of  too  poor  and  private  a  nature  ;  verged  here 
and  there  toward  gan-ulity ;  was  not,  in  one  word, 
written  in  the  style  of  what  we  call  a  gentleman." 

Oh,  how  well  we  know  it,  that  stupid,  stolid, 
contemptuous,  purblind  British  superciliousness, 
which  will  recognize  nothing  as  good  or  admirable, 
unless  it  be  arrayed  in  British  garb,  unless  it  con- 
form to  John  Bull's  narrow  Philistine  ideal !  Goe- 
the not  a  gentleman — the  stately  Olympian  Goethe, 
against  whom  the  chief  grievance  of  his  countrymen 
was  that  he  was  unapproachable,  uncommunicative  ! 
But  in  Germany  the  idea  of  a  gentleman  dispenses 
with  the  tall  stone  wall  of  reserve,  with  broken  bot- 
tles on  the  top.      A  German  gentleman  need  not 


66  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

(unless  he  be  a  military  man)  pretend  to  despise  all 
creation,  and  may  unbend,  nay  be  positively  agree- 
able, without  loss  of  dignity.  That  admirable  Brit- 
ish "you-be-damnedness,"  of  which  our  transatlantic 
cousins  are  so  proud,  is  on  the  continent  of  Europe 
held  to  be  a  disqualification  for  the  title  of  a  gentle- 
man. It  is  there  ignorantly  supposed  that  the  fac- 
ulty to  put  people  at  their  ease,  to  make  social  inter- 
course smooth  and  pleasant,  is  the  mark  of  high 
breeding ;  and  that  the  brutal  desire  to  humiliate, 
to  impress  our  neighbor  with  our  own  grandeur,  is, 
on  the  whole,  a  puerile  quality  unworthy  of  a  civil- 
ized man.  Carlyle,  however,  had  to  reckon  with  the 
national  ideals  as  he  found  them.  He  had  no  time 
to  change  them,  even  if  he  had  the  power ;  though, 
as  his  subsequent  career  shows,  he  did  not  lack 
courage  for  such  an  Herculean  undertaking. 

It  is  indeed  easy  to  imagine  the  disgust  of  Eng- 
lish upper  clubdom  at  the  emotional  redundancy 
and  extravagance  of  Goethe's  Werther  period  ;  and 
it  is  not  surprising  that  Carlyle  should  have  felt  it 
incumbent  upon  him  to  defend  his  hero.  His  de- 
fence, however,  does  not  seem  to  me  to  hit  the  nail 
on  the  head.  "  Goethe,"  he  says,  "  was  not  writing 
to  *  persons  of  quality '  in  England,  but  to  persons 
of  heart  and  head  in  Europe  :  a  somewhat  different 
problem  perhaps  and  requiring  a  somewhat  different 
solution." 

More  to  the  point  is  his  query,  whether  "  the 
style  of  a  man  "  and  that  of  an  English  gentleman 
are  necessarily  coincident  or  even   compatible,  and 


GOETHE  AND   CARLYLE  6/ 

what  migbt  be  their  relative  worth  and  prefer- 
ableness. 

How  deeply  he  is  concerned  to  acquit  his  hero  of 
the  charge  of  ungentlemanliness  is  obvious  from 
the  fact  that  he  returns  to  it  in  dealing  with  "  Wil- 
helm  Meister,"  which  the  English  reviewers  had 
pronounced  "vulgai'." 

"No  gentleman,  we  hear  in  certain  circles,  could 
have  written  it ;  few  real  gentlemen,  it  is  insinuated, 
can  like  to  read  it ;  no  real  lady,  unless  possessed  of 
considerable  courage,  should  profess  having  read  it 
at  all." 

This  is  an  awful  state  of  affairs,  surely.  But 
Carlyle's  manner  of  disposing  of  it  does  not  seem  to 
us  gi'eatly  to  mend  it.  Of  Goethe's  gentility,  he  says, 
he  will  leave  people  to  speak  who  have  the  faint- 
est knowledge  of  him  ;  and  as  for  the  gentility  of  his 
readers,  he  will  only  state  that  the  late  Queen  of 
Pmssia  found  much  consolation  in  reading  the  book. 
And  Sir  Walter  Scott,  who  was  surely  a  judge  of 
gentility,  had  given  her  a  certificate  of  character  in 
his  "Life  of  Napoleon,"  where  anyone  who  chose 
might  find  it.  This,  it  appears  to  us,  would  be  most 
excellent  fooling,  if  the  writer  were  not  so  sadly  and 
comically  serious. 

It  is  a  matter  of  great  interest  to  observe  what 
phases  of  Goethe's  many-sided  character  and  activity 
Carlyle  has  most  clearly  apprehended  and  elucida- 
ted, and  what  phases  he  has  misapprehended  or  ig- 
nored. His  first  vital  comment  strikes  a  full  chord. 
He  sees  very  plainly  the  grandeur  of  Goethe's  aim 


68  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

to  develop  harmoniously  his  physical,  intellectual, 
and  moral  powers : 

"  He  is  neither  noble  nor  plebeian,  neither  liberal 
nor  servile,  nor  infidel,  nor  devotee ;  but  the  best 
excellence  of  all  these  joined  in  pure  union — a  clear, 
universal  man.  Goethe's  poetry  is  no  separate  facul- 
ty, no  mental  handicraft ;  but  the  voice  of  the  whole 
harmonious  manhood." 

That  this  is  the  fundamental  chord  of  that  richly 
and  melodiously  vai'ied  composition  which  we  call 
Goethe's  life  is  beyond  dispute.  But  when  Caiiyle 
comes  to  analyze  the  tones  which  enter  into  this 
full-sounding  and  beautifully  complex  chord,  he 
adds  a  note  of  his  own  devising  which  sui*ely  is  not 
found  in  his  theme.  In  speaking  of  Goethe's  tran- 
sition from  the  turbulent  sentimental  period,  of 
which  "The  Sorrows  of  Werther"  is  the  monu- 
ment, to  the  period  of  clarified  strength  and  active 
manhood,  of  which  "  Wilhelm  Meister  "  is  the  com- 
pletest  expression,  he  makes  the  following  observa- 
tions : 

"  For  Goethe  had  not  only  suffered  and  mourned 
in  bitter  agony  of  spirit  under  the  spiritual  perplex- 
ities of  his  time,  but  he  has  also  mastered  these  ;  he 
is  above  them,  and  has  shown  others  how  to  lise 
above  them.  At  one  time  we  found  him  in  dark- 
ness, and  now  he  is  in  light ;  he  ivas  once  an  un- 
believer, and  now  he  is  a  believer  ;  and  he  believes, 
moreover,  not  by  denying  his  unbelief,  but  by  fol- 
lowing it  out ;  not  by  stopping  short,  still  less  turn- 
ing back  in  his  inquiries,  but  by  resolutely  prosecut- 


GOETHE  AND   CARLYLE  6g 

ing  them.  .  .  .  How  Las  the  belief  of  a  saint 
been  united  in  this  high  and  true  mind  with  the 
clearness  of  a  sceptic,  the  devoutness  of  a  Fenelon 
made  to  blend  in  soft  harmony  with  the  gayety,  the 
sarcasm,  the  shi'ewdness  of  a  Voltaire  ?  " 

That  this  passage  is  widely  astray  no  student  of 
Goethe  will  need  to  be  told.  To  attribute  to  the 
serene  old  pagan  in  Weimar  "  the  belief  of  a  saint" 
and  "  the  devoutness  of  a  Fenelon  "  betrays  a  radi- 
cal misapprehension  of  his  character  which  must 
detract  from  the  value  of  all  that  Carlyle  has  writ- 
ten about  him.  To  the  young  Scot  who  had  breathed 
the  religious  atmosphere  of  Puritanism  from  his 
childhood,  and  with  the  deep  earnestness  of  his  nat- 
ure pondered  and  discussed  theological  questions 
at  the  fireside  in  his  father's  cottage,  the  calm  tol- 
erance (not  to  say  indifference)  of  Goethe  concerning 
heavenly  things  was  simply  incomprehensible.  He 
felt  a  strong  need  to  admire  this  man,  to  worship 
him,  and  by  an  unconscious  distortion  of  meanings 
he  found  in  his  writings  that  which  he  wished  to 
find.  Nay,  he  did  more.  He  infused  much  of  his 
own  devout  spirit  into  his  English  translations  of 
Goethe's  verses.  Take,  for  instance,  this,  in  his  es- 
say on  "  Goethe's  Works,"  in  The  Foreign  Quarterly 
Review,  No.  19.     The  German  reads : 

"  Wie  das  Gestirn, 
Olnie  Hast 
Aber  ohne  Rast, 
Drehe  sich  jeder 
Um  die  eigne  Last." 


70  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Which  Carlyle  renders  : 

"  Like  as  a  star, 
That  maketh  not  haste, 
That  taketh  not  rest, 
Be  each  one  fulfilling 
His  God  given  hest." 

Though  much  may  be  forgiven  a  man  who  trans- 
lates verse  into  verse,  so  flagrant  a  distortion  of 
meaning  is  surely  reprehensible.  There  is  nothing 
about  "  God -given  hest "  in  the  original,  or  anything 
remotely  bordering  on  it.  What  Goethe  says,  re- 
taining throughout  the  verse  the  image  of  the  star, 
is,  literally  : 

"  Like  as  a  star,  without  haste,  but  without  rest, 
let  each  revolve  about  his  own  weight,"  i.e.,  the  pole 
or  axis  of  his  own  personality.*  But  Carlyle  aban- 
dons the  poetic  image,  unless,  indeed,  by  God-given 
hest  he  means  the  j)rescribed  sphere,  to  which  by  the 
law  of  gravitation  the  star  is  confined,  and  in  which 
it  is  made  to  revolve. 

This  is  a  case  in  point ;  and  we  might  recall  more, 
though  none  quite  so  striking.     The  assertion  that 

*  Professor  J.  S.  Blackie  translates  and  amplifies  the  verse 
a  trifle  in  his  "Wisdom  of  Goethe  " : 
"  Like  the  star 
That  shines  afar, 
Without  haste 
And  without  rest, 
Let  each  man  wheel,  with  steady  sway, 
Round  the  task  that  rules  the  day, 
And  do  his  best." 


GOETHE  AND   CARLYLE  /I 

Goethe  became  a  believer  by  following  out  bis  un- 
belief, by  resolutely  prosecuting  his  inquiries  to 
their  logical  conclusions,  has,  at  first  blush,  a  very 
mystical  look  ;  but  must  be  intended  to  mean  that 
religion  will  endure  the  test  of  scientific  inquiry  and 
that  Goethe  amved  at  belief  in  supernatural  things 
by  logical  reasoning  and  painstaking  investigation 
of  natural  things.  Without  pronouncing  upon  the 
possibility  of  such  a  process,  we  cannot  but  marvel 
at  its  being  predicated  of  Goethe  ;  for  if  there  is 
one  thing  which  Goethe  lacks  completely  it  is  this 
very  devoutness  which  Carlyle,  with  a  singular  per- 
sistence, attributes  to  him.  How  could  a  devout 
believer  write,  for  instance,  a  passage  like  this  (in 
the  second  part  of  "  Faust ")  ? 

"The  sphere  of  earth  is  known  enough  to  me, 
The  view  above  i»  barred  immutably  ; 
A  fool  who  there  his  blinking  eyes  clirecteth. 
And  o'er  the  clouds  of  peers  a  place  expecteih. 
Firm  let  him  stand  and  look  around  him  well  1 
This  world  means  something  to  the  capable; 
Why  needs  he  through  eternity  to  wend  V 
Here  he  acquires  what  he  can  comprehend."  * 

*  Taylor's  translation.  The  fact  that  this  passage  was  not 
published  at  the  time  when  Carlyle  wrote  scarcely  invali- 
dates the  argument,  for  after  the  publication  of  the  complet- 
ed Faust,  when  writing  his  final  essay  on  Goethe's  Works, 
Carlyle  repeats  substantially  his  earlier  opinion.  "  In  his 
third  or  final  period  "  he  says,  "'  Reverence  becomes  triumph- 
ant ;  a  deep,  all-pervading  faith,  with  a  mild  voice,  grave  or 
gay,  speaks  forth  to  us  in  a  Meister's  Wanderjahre,  iu  a 
West"stliche  Divan." 


72  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

The  sentiment  here  expressed  is  not  a  mere  iso- 
lated utterance,  but  is  deeply  characteristic  of  Goe- 
the during  his  third  and  most  mature  period.  Here 
are  a  few  quotations  from  his  conversations  ^Yith 
Eckermann,  which  are  all  in  the  same  vein  and 
which  correctly  represent  his  religious  views  : 

"Religion  stands  in  the  same  relation  to  art  as 
any  other  higher  interest  of  life.  It  is  only  to  be 
regarded  as  material  and  has  exactly  the  same  rights 
as  any  other  material." 

"They  are  now  shaking  up  the  five  books  of 
Moses,  and  if  criticism  is  injurious  anywhere,  it  is  in 
matters  of  religion  ;  for  here  everything  rests  upon 
faith,  to  which  no  man  can  return,  if  once  he  has  lost  it." 

"It  is  like  drinking  out  the  ocean  to  undertake 
an  historical  and  critical  investigation  (of  the  contra- 
dictions of  the  gospels).  It  is  far  better,  without 
further  ado,  to  hold  fast  to  that  which  is  really  there 
and  to  appropriate  that  which  we  can  use  for  our 
moral  culture  and  strengthening." 

"  It  is  natural  for  man  to  regard  himself  as  the 
crown  of  creation  and  to  view  all  other  creatures 
only  in  their  relation  to  himself  and  in  so  far  as 
they  are  adapted  to  his  use  and  service.  He  takes 
possession  of  the  vegetable  and  animal  world,  and 
while  he  devours  other  creatures  as  fit  nourishment 
for  himself,  he  acknowledges  his  God  and  praises 
His  goodness  in  thus  providing  for  him  with  fatherly 
care.  He  deprives  the  cow  of  her  milk,  the  bee  of 
its  honey,  the  sheep  of  its  wool,  and  as  he  finds  all 
these  things  useful  for  his  own  purposes,  he  straight- 


GOETHE  AND   CARLYLE  73 

way  concludes  that  tliey  were  created  for  these  pur- 
poses. Nay,  he  cannot  imagine  that  even  the  smallest 
weed  exists  except  for  him,  and  if  he  has  not  up  to 
date  discovered  its  use,  he  takes  it  for  granted  that 
he  will  in  future  surely  discover  it.  .  .  .  The 
apostles  of  utility  would  fancy  that  they  had  lost 
their  God  if  they  were  not  to  adore  Him  who  gave 
the  ox  his  horns  in  order  that  he  might  defend  him- 
self. I,  however,  may  be  permitted  to  revere  Him, 
who  in  the  abundance  of  His  creation  was  so  great 
that,  after  a  thousand  plants,  He  made  one  in  which 
all  the  others  are  contained,  and  after  a  thousand 
kinds  of  animals  made  one  which  contains  all  the 
rest,  viz.,  inxan.  Let  them  revere  Him  who  provides 
the  cattle  with  its  fodder  and  man  with  food  and 
drink  as  much  as  he  can  enjoy ;  but  I  adore  Him 
who  has  deposited  in  the  world  such  a  vast  produc- 
tive energy  that  if  only  a  millionth  part  of  it  entei-s 
into  existence  the  world  swarms  with  creatures,  so 
that  war,  pestilence,  flood,  and  fire  can  make  no  im- 
pression upon  it.     That  is  my  God." 

"Now,  a  man  may  well  be  a  great  connoisseur  in 
human  affairs,  as  it  is  perfectly  conceivable  that  he 
may  have  made  the  art  and  the  knowledge  of  a  master 
completely  his  own  ;  hut  in  divine  things  a  being  who 
could  do  this  would  have  to  be  the  peer  of  the  Supreme 
Being  himself.  Nay,  if  God  were  to  deliver  and  reveal 
unto  us  such  mysteries,  we  should  not  be  able  to  com- 
prehend them,  and  should  not  know  what  to  do  with 
them  ;  and  we  should  again  resemble  that  ignoramus 
in  the  picture,  to  whom  the  master  could  not,  with 


74  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

all  his  explanations,  communicate  even  the  premises 
according  to  which  he  judges.  In  this  respect  it  is, 
therefore,  entirely  right  that  all  religions  have  not 
been  given  directly  by  God  himself,  but  that  they, 
being  the  work  of  excellent  men,  are  adapted  to  the 
needs  and  the  comprehension  of  a  large  number  of 
their  like.  If  they  were  the  work  of  God  himself  no 
one  would  comprehend  them  ;  but  being  the  work  of 
man  they  do  not  express  the  inexpressible."     .     .     . 

"  Christ,  conceived  of  an  only  God,  to  whom  He  at- 
tributed all  the  qualities  which  He  felt  in  himself  as 
perfections.  God  became  the  vei-y  essence  of  His 
own  beautiful  soul,  full  of  goodness  and  love  like 
himself,  and  entirely  adapted  to  have  good  men  con- 
fidingly give  themselves  up  to  Him  and  cherish  this 
idea  as  the  sweetest  bond  with  heaven." 

Now,  whatever  this  may  be,  it  is  surely  not  Chris- 
tianity. The  "  pestilential  fever  of  scepticism " 
which,  as  Carlyle  says,  **  had  run  through  its  stages  in 
Goethe's  life,"  and  was  "happily  ended,"  obviously 
endured  to  the  last,  if  by  scepticism  we  mean,  ac- 
cording to  the  definition  of  "  The  Century  Diction- 
ary'," doubt  or  disbelief  of  the  fundamental  dootriues 
of  the  Christian  religion.  That  Goethe  was  not  an 
atheist,  or  in  the  modern  sense,  an  agnostic,  is  plain 
from  the  above  quotations  and  from  many  equally 
pregnant  passages  in  his  "  Correspondence  with 
Schiller."  He  did  not  profess  not  to  know  whether 
there  was  a  God,  but  he  rejected  all  anthropomor- 
phic notions  of  God,  asserting  that  they  were  useful, 
but  that  his  conception  of  God  derived  from  the 


GOETHE  AXD   CARLYLE  75 

study  of  His  works  was  so  infinitely  greater,  and  yet 
as  infinitely  removed  from  any  completely  true  and 
adequate  idea,  as  the  earth  is  from  heaven.  In  this 
sense  he  may  be  said  to  have  had  reverence  ;  not  the 
reverence  which  impels  to  blind  acceptance  and 
makes  one  shrink  from  investigation,  but  that  rev- 
erence which  recognizes  with  cheerfulness  our  own 
place  in  and  relation  to  the  universe  and  the  infi- 
nitely great  and  inconceivable  Being  who  must  be  its 
author.  This  mental  attitude  appears  to  have  been 
beyond  Carlyle's  comprehension,  or  he  would  surely 
not  have  characterized  it  by  such  misleading  phrases 
as  "  the  devoutuess  of  a  Fenelon,"  or  "  the  belief  of 
a  saint."  A  scarcely  less  radical  misconception  of 
Goethe's  spirit  is  implied  in  the  sentence,  attributing 
to  him  "  the  gayety  and  the  sarcasm,  the  shrewdness 
of  a  Voltaire." 

Although  we  may  have  pursued  this  inquiiy  far 
enough,  we  cannot  refrain  from  illustrating  by  a 
few  more  instances  the  kind  of  forced  and  violent 
interpretation  to  which  Carlyle  subjects  the  writings 
of  his  hero.  We  may  freely  admit  that  he  did  not 
have  at  his  command  the  material  which  enables  the 
Goethe  critic  of  to-day  to  view  the  great  man  in  all 
the  manifold  phases  of  his  activity,  and  to  profit  by 
the  labors  of  a  host  of  predecessors.  Eckermanu's 
"  Conversations"  were  not  published  until  1836,  and 
Eiemer's  "  Communications  "  not  until  1841.  It  is 
a  difiScult  thing  to  determine  how  much  we  may 
ourselves  be  indebted  to  these  direct  and  highly  illu- 
minative utterances  of  the  master  for  our  insight 


76  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

into  his  character  and  opinions.  But  even  making 
due  allowance  for  the  disadvantages  under  which  he 
labored,  we  believe  that  Carlyle  has  displayed  more 
of  personal  good-will  than  of  critical  sagacity  in  his 
interpretation  of  the  works  of  Goethe.  His  disquisi- 
tion on  "  Werther  "  and  "Wilhelm  Meister,"  to  which 
allusion  has  been  made,  is  full  of  passion  and  stormy 
eloquence,  and  is,  independently  of  its  subject,  a 
magnificent  piece  of  writing.  A  writer  who  is  so 
overbrimming  with  urgent  and  positive  opinions 
will,  as  a  rule,  do  well  to  express  himself  directly,  in 
•propria  persona,  and  not  through  the  medium  of  a 
criticism  of  somebody  else.  It  is  not  because  he 
was  too  small,  but  because  he  was  too  great  a  man, 
that  Carlyle  proves  himself  a  bad  interpreter.  He 
is  always  interesting,  always  instructive,  but  not  al- 
ways right.  Thus,  when  he  professes  to  find  con- 
firmation of  his  view  of  Goethe  as  a  reverent  believer, 
in  the  Second  Part  of  "  Wilhelm  Meister,"  he  simply 
substitutes  his  own  opinions  for  those  of  Goethe. 
He  quotes,  at  great  length,  the  passage  in  which 
Wilhelm  goes  with  his  son  Felix  to  the  three  myste- 
rious sages,  for  the  purpose  of  entrusting  to  them 
the  boy's  education.  He  finds  a  profound  signifi- 
cance in  the  three  symbolic  gestures  which  the  chil- 
dren are  taught,  inculcating  reverence  for  the  things 
above,  the  things  below,  and  for  themselves,  the 
highest  of  which  is  the  last  named.  These  three 
kinds  of  reverence  are  said  to  constitute  in  their 
union  "the  true  Religion."  But  that  this  "true 
religion  "  is  not  Christianity  or  anything  closely  akin 


GOETHE  AND  CARLYLE  7/ 

to  it,  is  demonstrated  by  the  very  passages  which 
Carlyle  quotes  in  corroboration  of  his  view  : 

"  In  your  historical  series,"  said  he  [Wilhelm],  "  I 
find  a  chasm.  You  have  destroyed  the  Temple  of 
Jerusalem,  and  dispersed  the  people,  yet  you  have 
not  introduced  the  Divine  Man  who  taught  there 
shortly  before  ;  to  whom,  shortly  before,  they  would 
give  no  ear." 

"  To  have  done  this,  as  you  require  it,  would  have 
been  an  eiTor.  The  life  of  that  divine  man,  whom 
you  allude  to,  stands  in  no  connection  with  the  gen- 
eral history  of  the  world  in  his  time.  It  was  a  pri- 
vate life  ;  his  teaching  was  a  teaching  for  individ- 
uals. What  has  publicly  befallen  vast  masses  of 
people,  and  the  minor  parts  composing  them,  belongs 
to  the  general  history  of  the  world,  to  the  general 
religion  of  the  world,  the  Religion  we  have  named 
the  First.  What  inwai-dly  befalls  individuals,  be- 
longs to  the  Second  Religion,  the  Philosophical. 
Such  a  religion  was  it  that  Christ  taught  and  prac- 
tised, so  long  as  he  went  about  on  earth.  For  this 
reason  the  external  here  closes,  and  I  now  open  to 
you  the  internal." 

This  is  only  introductory  ;  but  as  such  essential 
to  the  comprehension  of  what  follows.  The  point 
we  wish  to  make  is  emphasized  in  the  subsequent 
discourse  of  the  Elder,  who,  as  every  Goethe  scholar 
will  admit,  is  but  the  mouthpiece  of  the  author's 
own  conviction : 

"  We  have  entirely  disjoined  that  sublime  man's 
life  from  its  termination.     In  life  he  appears  as  a 


78  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

true  philosopher — let  not  the  expression  stagger  us 
— as  a  wise  man  in  the  highest  sense.  .  .  .  And 
thus  to  the  noble  portion  of  mankind,  his  walk  and 
conversation  are  even  more  instructive  and  profit- 
able than  his  death,  for  to  those  trials  everyone  is 
called  ;  to  this  trial  but  few." 

"  Permit  me  one  question,"  said  "Wilhelm.  "  As 
you  have  set  up  the  life  of  the  divine  man  for  a  pat- 
tern and  example,  have  you  likewise  selected  his 
sufiferings,  his  death,  as  a  model  of  exalted  patience?  " 

"  Uudoubtedly  we  have,"  replied  the  Eldest  "  Of 
this  we  make  no  secret,  but  we  draw  a  veil  over 
those  sufferings,  even  because  we  reverence  them 
so  highly.  We  hold  it  a  damnable  audacity  to  bring 
forth  that  torturing  cross,  and  the  Holy  One  who 
suffers  on  it,  or  to  expose  them  to  the  light  of  the 
sun  which  hid  its  face  whe»  a  reckless  world  forced 
such  a  sight  on  it ;  to  take  these  mysterious  secrets, 
in  which  the  divine  depth  of  sorrow  lies  hid,  and 
play  with  them,  fondle  them,  ti'ick  them  out,  and 
rest  not  till  the  most  reverend  of  all  solemnities  ap- 
pears vulgar  and  paltry." 

Goethe's  repugnance  to  suffering,  pain,  and  sor- 
row was  one  of  his  most  marked  chai-acteristics. 
It  was  a  limitation  of  his  nature  which  he  inherited 
from  his  cheerful,  pleasure-loving  mother.  He  ha- 
bitually took  the  most  circuitous  route  to  avoid  the 
disagreeable.  When  sorrows  befell  him,  he  resorted 
to  evei-y  means  in  his  power  to  banish  the  thought 
of  them.     He  never  faced  them,  grappled  with  them, 


GOETHE  AND   CARLYLE  79 

and  experienced  the  wholesome,  though  bitter,  dis- 
cipline of  pain.  But  he  fled  from  them.  When  hia 
son  died,  no  one  for  a  long  time  dared  by  any  allu- 
sion to  remind  him  of  his  loss.  In  a  letter  to  Zel- 
ter  he  spoke  of  his  son's  "  remaining  away "  {aus- 
bleiben),  which,  he  said,  had  distressed  him.  In  all 
similar  situations,  he  resorted  to  similar  expedients. 
His  well-known  dislike  of  the  crucifixion,  and  of  all 
pictorial  representations  of  the  suffering  Christ,  was 
but  another  symptom  of  this  deep-rooted  tempera- 
mental abhorrence  of  all  that  jarred  upon  (what  ap- 
peared to  him)  the  rich  and  serene  harmony  of  ex- 
istence. Because  Christianity  addresses  its  message 
primarily  to  the  suffering  humanity  and  regards 
suffering,  not  as  mere  discord,  but  as  a  purifying 
and  ennobling  discipline,  it  could  never  be  the  re- 
ligion of  Goethe.  It  did  not  appeal  to  any  deep 
need  of  his  nature  ;  and  therefore  could  not  be  val- 
ued at  its  supreme  worth. 

This  is,  in  our  opinion,  the  one  glaring  inadequacy 
in  his  presentation  of  life.  With  the  exception  of 
two  scenes  in  "  Faust,"  where  he  rises  to  a  height 
which  he  nowhere  else  attains,  his  pictures  of  pain, 
sorrow,  and  contrition  are  comparatively  pale,  lack- 
ing in  depth  and  vigor.  As  he  himself  said  to  Eck- 
ermann,  he  had  too  conciliatoiy  a  nature  to  be  a 
good  dramatist ;  but  his  real  deficiency  as  a  di'ama- 
tist  is  only  hinted  at  in  this  confession.  It  lies 
rather  in  his  systematic  ignoring  of  the  darker  and 
harsher  phases  of  existence — his  lack  of  experience 
and  temperamental  avoidance  of  what,  to  the  great 


80  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

majority  of  mankind,   must   remain   the  sternest, 
deepest  problem. 

It  is  becausQ.  of  his  failure  to  apprehend  this  limi- 
tation of  Goethe's  nature  that  Carlyle  has  uncon- 
sciously distorted  his  likeness.  Carlyle  was  himself 
so  largely  gifted  with  reverence,  and  approached  his 
heroes  in  eo  reverential  an  attitude,  that  to  detect  a 
flaw  in  them  would  have  appeared  to  him  as  a  species 
of  disloyalty.  As  he  praised  Goethe's  "  Helena  "  for 
its  obscurity — its  "  vague,  fluctuating,  fitful  adumbra- 
tion of  many  [things]  " — so  he  did  not  scruple  to 
extol  his  very  faults  into  virtues.  Though  we  may 
not,  in  our  critical  capacity,  admire  such  partisan- 
ship, we  freely  admit  that  there  is  something  fine 
and  sturdy  about  it  which,  in  its  human  aspect,  is 
more  beautiful  than  cool,  sagacious  impartiality. 
Carlyle  refers  frequently  to  Goethe  as  his  teacher, 
and  in  one  of  his  letters  he  styles  himself  his  pupiL 
His  sense  of  gratitude  to  his  great  German  master 
made  him  unable  and  unwilling  to  apply  a  critical 
microscope  to  his  possible  defects.  He  was  under 
too  great  a  debt  of  gratitude  to  find  any  zest  in  that 
kind  of  employment.  Goethe  loomed  up  on  his 
horizon  too  grand,  too  colossal,  to  be  measured  by 
the  petty  inch-measure  which  we  apply  to  ordinary 
men.  Such  carping,  cold-blooded,  unsympathetic 
analysis  as  we  find,  for  instance,  in  the  essay  of  M. 
Edmond  Scherer  on  Goethe,  would  have  filled  Car- 
lyle with  wrath.  And  even  the  nicely-adjusted  and 
discriminating  apothecary's  scales  of  Matthew  Ar- 
nold, so  evenly  balanced  by  a  hair's  weight  between 


GOETHE  AND   CARLYLE  8 1 

praise  and  blame,  he  would  have  felt  tempted  to 
smash  with  one  blow  of  his  rugged  Scotch  fist.  And 
to  account  for  this  attitude  of  warm  and  pugnacious 
fealty,  let  me  quote  from  the  above-named  Thirteenth 
Lecture  on  "Periods  of  Culture,"  where  Carlyle 
states  with  beautiful  frankness  the  reason  of  his  in- 
debtedness to  Goethe. 

"  To  explain,  I  can  only  think  of  the  revelation, 
for  I  can  call  it  no  other,  that  these  men  (Goethe 
and  Schiller)  made  to  me.  It  was  to  me  like  the 
rising  of  a  light  in  the  darkness  which  lay  around 
and  threatened  to  swallow  me  up.  I  was  then  in  the 
veiy  midst  of  Wertherism,  the  blackness  and  dark- 
ness of  death.  There  was  one  thing  which  particu- 
larly struck  me  in  Goethe.  It  is  in  his  '  Wilhelm 
Meister.'  He  had  been  describing  an  association  of 
all  sorts  of  people  of  talent,  formed  to  receive  prop- 
ositions and  give  responses  to  them.  ...  A 
number  of  applications  for  advice  were  daily  made 
to  the  association,  which  were  answered  thus  and 
thus ;  but  .  .  .  'many  'people  lorote  in  pariicidar 
for  recipes  for  happiness,  all  that  .  .  .  was  laid 
on  the  shelf,  and  not  answered  at  all.  Now,  this  thing 
gave  me  great  surprise  when  I  read  it.  *  What ! ' 
I  said,  '  is  it  not  a  recipe  of  happiness  that  I  have 
been  seeking  all  my  life,  and  isn't  it  precisely  be- 
cause I  have  failed  in  finding  it  that  I  am  now  mis- 
erable and  discontented  ? '  Had  I  supposed,  as  some 
people  do,  that  Goethe  was  fond  of  paradoxes, 
.  .  .  I  had  certainly  rejected  it  without  further 
trouble,  but  I  couldn't  think  it.    At  length,  after 


82  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

turning  it  up  for  a  great  while  in  my  own  mind, 
I  got  to  see  that  it  was  true  what  he  said — that  it 
was  the  thing  that  all  the  world  was  in  error  in.  No 
man  has  a  right  to  ask  for  a  recipe  for  happiness, 
there  is  something  better  than  that.  All  kinds  of 
men  who  have  done  great  things — priests,  prophets, 
sages — have  had  in  them  something  higher  than  the 
love  of  happiness  to  guide  them,  spiritual  clearness 
and  perfection — a  far  better  thing  than  happiness. 
Love  of  happiness  is  but  a  kind  of  hunger  at  the 
best,  a  cravh:g  because  I  have  not  enough  of  sweet 
provision  in  this  world.  If  I  am  asked  what  that 
higher  thing  is,  I  cannot  at  once  make  answer,  I  am 
afi'aid  of  causing  mistake.  There  is  no  name  I  can 
give  it  that  is  not  to  be  questioned.  .  .  .  There 
is  no  name  for  it,  but  pity  for  that  heart  which  does 
not  feel  it.  Tliere  is  no  good  volition  in  that  heart. 
This  higher  thing  was  once  named  the  Cross  of 
Christ — not  a  happy  thing  that,  surely." 

Here  we  have  again  the  persistent  infusion  of  alien 
and  personal  sentiment.  That  "  Wilhelm  Meister  " 
should  have  led  anyone  to  the  Cross  of  Christ  is 
certainly  one  of  the  most  startling  paradoxes  of  this 
master  of  paradox.  A  hint  of  Goethe  concerning 
the  impossibility  of  furnishing  a  recipe  for  happi- 
ness, and  its  futility  if  furnished,  starts  a  new  and, 
as  it  appears,  profitable  train  of  thought  in  Carlj'le's 
mind,  which  becomes  the  nucleus  of  his  new  phi- 
losophy of  life.  "  Wilhelm  Meister,"  as  has  been 
said,  started  out,  like  Saul,  to  find  his  father's  asses, 
and  he  found  a  kingdom.     His  manifold  experiences 


GOETHE  AND   CARLYLE  83 

taught  him  that  happiness  is  not  found  by  him  who 
goes  in  search  of  it,  but  comes,  if  it  comes  at  all, 
through  unselfish  absorption  in  labor  for  the  good 
of  mankind.  That  was  a  great  lesson,  surely,  and 
one  for  which  Carlyle  had  every  reason  to  be  grate- 
ful to  Goethe.  It  is  perhaps  also,  in  a  sense,  the 
lesson  conveyed  by  the  Cross  of  Christ.  But  why 
should  Carlyle,  who  had  wrestled  with  the  Lord  in 
prayer  and  doubt  and  agony  of  spirit  from  his 
youth  up — who  had  been  the  bosom  friend  of  the 
fanatical  preacher  Irving — why  should  he  have  to 
go  to  Goethe  for  that  familiar  lesson — particularly  as 
Goethe  was  not  aware  of  having  taught  it  in  the 
sense  in  which  Carlyle  interpreted  it  ? 

This  experience,  however,  is  not  so  strange  as  we 
may  fancy.  This  is  not  the  first  instance  in  which 
an  author  has  taught  a  lesson  which  he  had  not  him- 
seK  leai'ned.  And  it  is  not  only  here,  but  in  many 
instances,  that  his  pupil  adds,  out  of  the  abundance 
of  his  own  rich  nature,  decorative  touches  to  his 
master's  likeness,  and  infuses  into  it  something  of 
his  own  fervent  spirit. 

There  is  no  shrinking,  then,  from  the  conclusion 
that  Carlyle's  Goethe  is  not  the  serene,  gravely -plas- 
tic, vigUantly-observant,  self-poised,  and  essentially 
pagan  sage  of  Weimar.  A  very  noble  and  beautiful 
character  he  is,  and  to  many,  perhaps,  more  beauti- 
ful than  his  original.  Of  this  each  man  must  judge 
according  to  his  own  prejudice  and  predilection. 
But  it  is  undeniable  that,  whether  true  or  not,  this 
modified  Goethe  has  played  a  great  part  in  English 


84  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

literature,  and  a  great  debt  of  gratitude  England  owes 
to  Carlyle  for  having  introduced  him.  The  widen- 
ing of  her  intellectual  horizon,  which  this  new  out- 
look into  the  German  realm  of  thought  brought 
with  it,  has  had  many  beneficial  results.  It  made  a 
breach  in  the  wall  of  insular  prejudice  and  opened 
avenues  for  the  influx  of  new  culture.  The  saying 
of  Novalis,  that  every  Englishman  is  an  island,  is  less 
true  to-day  than  it  was  seventy  years  ago.  And  it 
is  in  a  measure  due  to  Thomas  Carlyle  that  such  is 
the  case. 


III. 

THE    ENGLISH    ESTIMATE    OF 
GOETHE 

THE  German  novelist  Berthold  Auerbach  coined 
the  word  "Goethe-ripe,"  by  which  he  designated 
the  degree  of  intellectual  maturity  enabling  one  to 
comprehend  the  significance  of  Goethe's  life  and 
works.  By  this  test  I  should  say  that  the  British 
public  is  not  "  Goethe-ripe."  The  spirit  that  ani- 
mates Goethe  is  very  far  removed  from  that  which 
dominates  English  literature,  past  and  present.  Not 
that  I  mean  this  as  a  reflection  upon  English  litera- 
ture, but  merely  as  an  interesting  phenomenon. 
That  unbiassed  recognition  of  all  that  is  good  and 
beautiful,  that  Olympian  serenity  of  soul  and  cath- 
olicity of  judgment  which  characterized  Goethe, 
arouse,  as  a  rule,  not  admiration,  but  animosity,  in 
England.  At  the  English  univei'sities  a  Goethe  stu- 
dent is  as  rare  as  a  white  blackbird.  And  I  venture 
to  say  that  intelligent,  sympathetic  study  of  Goethe 
could  scarcely  flourish  in  that  atmosphere  of  semi-ec- 
clesiastical medisevalism  which  yet  hangs,  like  an 
oppressive  mist,  over  Oxford,  and,  in  a  lesser  degree, 
over  Cambridge.     I  am  well  aware  that  this  mist  is 


86  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

lifting,  and  that  the  English  universities  to  -  day 
are  more  conscious  of  the  intellectual  currents  of 
the  age  than  they  were  ten  or  twenty  years  ago. 
But  to  a  man  who  has  breathed  the  atmosphere  of 
Leipsic  and  Berlin,  a  visit  to  the  English  seats  of 
learning  is  yet  an  experience  resembling  somewhat 
that  of  the  Counsellor  in  Hans  Christian  Andersen's 
"  Goloshes  of  Fortune,"  when  he  was  transferred 
back  into  the  age  of  King  Hans.  One  begins  to 
understand,  after  such  a  visit,  all  the  malignant  wit- 
ticisms which  Heine  made  on  the  English,  and  the 
generally  unfriendly  tone  toward  them  which  per- 
vades German  literature. 

One  needs  to  be,  approximately  at  least,  "  Goethe- 
ripe  "  in  order  to  be  in  sympathy  with  modern  Ger- 
many and  comprehend  its  aims  ;  for  Goethe  is  a 
colossal  factor  in  the  intellectual  life  of  the  Father- 
land. One  need  not  go  as  far  as  Hermann  Grimm, 
who  virtually  says  that  a  politically  united  Germany 
was  made  possible  solely  by  Goethe  and  Schiller, 
and,  it  is  to  be  inferred,  would  have  been  impossible 
without  them.  Goethe  is  the  Atlas  who  carries  the 
world  of  German  thought,  as  we  now  witness  it, 
upon  his  shoulders.  He  compelled  his  people  to 
pass  through  the  same  stages  of  intellectual  growth, 
through  which  he  himself  had  passed,  and  though 
they  may  never  reach  as  far  as  he,  they  cannot  stray 
far  from  the  paths  of  progress  which  he  prescribed. 
It  is  surely  not  an  accident,  nor  is  it,  as  Matthew 
Arnold  fancies,  the  need  of  having  a  Hterature  com- 
raeiisurate  with  the  greatness  of  the  political  empire, 


THE  ENGLISH  ESTIMATE    OF  GOETHE     8/ 

which  has  impelled  a  host  of  critics,  biographers, 
and  commentators  to  study  the  various  phases  of 
Goethe's  activity  and  throw  the  light  of  investiga- 
tion upon  every  obscure  spot  in  his  career.  Patri- 
otism may  account  for  many  literary  vagaries ;  it 
may  disturb  the  focus  and  increase  the  magnifying 
capacity  of  many  a  critical  lens  ;  it  may  even  create 
a  spurious  celebrity  which  may  deceive  people  in- 
capable of  discrimination.  But  such  celebrities,  of 
which  Germany  has  its  share,  never  outlive  the  gen- 
eration which  made  them.  If  a  whole  literature 
springs  up  about  a  man,  which  continues  to  gi'ow 
and  to  enlist  public  interest  half  a  century  after  his 
death,  it  may  be  taken  for  granted  that  that  man 
has  contributed  something  new  and  of  abiding  value 
to  the  world's  fund  of  knowledge. 

Many  English  critics  have  taken  pains  to  register 
their  more  or  less  complete  ignorance  concerning 
Goethe,  and  only  three  or  four  have  written  any- 
thing worthy  of  serious  consideration.  Besides 
Lewes  and  Carlyle,  of  whose  writings  on  German 
literature  I  have  spoken  in  another  place,  these  are 
Matthew  Arnold,  Richard  Holt  Hutton,  and  Professor 
John  Stuart  Blackie.  I  cannot  consent  to  include 
the  late  Abraham  Hayward  in  this  number,  although 
I  am  aware  that  he  translated  "  Faust "  into  English 
prose  and  wrote  a  very  readable  and  superficially 
attractive  "Life  of  Goethe  "  in  "Blackwood's  For- 
eign Classics."  Mr.  Hayward  was  a  professional  man 
of  the  world,  a  clever  and  agreeable  raconteur,  an  ac- 
complished diner-out,  who  had  gathered  a  store  of 


88  GERMAN-  LITERATURE 

varied  information  fit  for  the  entertainment  of  a 
dinner  party ;  but  he  was  neither  a  scholar  nor  a 
thinker,  and  there  is  nothing  in  his  book  to  show 
that  he  had  any  deeper  comprehension  of  his  sub- 
ject. Much  of  it  is  written  in  what  appears  to  me  a 
wrong  key,  and  jars  a  Httle  upon  the  ears  that  are 
attuned  to  Goethe's  music. 

Matthew  Arnold's  essay  on  "  A  French  Critic  of 
Goethe,"  though  vastly  subtler  and  nobler  in  tone, 
is  also,  to  our  individual  feeling,  here  and  there  a 
trifle  out  of  tune.  Nevertheless  this  essay  remains 
the  most  notable  English  estimate  of  Goethe.  It  is 
only  a  matter  of  regret  that  Mr.  Arnold,  instead  of 
rectifying  M.  Scherer's  judgments,  and  sometimes 
applauding  them  when  they  are  manifestly  unfair, 
did  not  choose  Goethe  himself  for  his  theme  rather 
than  the  French  Chauvinist,  who  sees  the  great  poet 
and  all  his  works  through  the  wrong  end  of  the  tele- 
scope. The  judicial  attitude  which  Mr.  Arnold 
justly  insists  upon  in  a  critic  is  surely  not  exhibited 
in  sentences  like  these  of  M  Scherer  : 

"I  say  nothing  of  the  substance  of  the  piece 
(*Gotz  von  Berlichingen'),  of  the  absence  of  charac- 
ters, of  the  nullity  of  the  hero,  of  the  commonplace 
of  Weiszlingen,  the  inevitable  traitor ;  of  the  melo- 
dramatic machinery  of  the  secret  tribunal.  The 
style  is  no  better.  .  .  .  The  astonishment  is 
not  that  Goethe  at  twenty-five  should  have  been 
equal  to  writing  this  piece ;  the  astonishment  is 
that  after  so  poor  a  start  he  should  have  subse- 
quently gone  so  far." 


THE  ENGLISH  ESTIMATE   OF  GOETHE     89 

But  it  would  be  a  marvel  indeed  if  M.  ScLerer, 
after  the  avowal  of  his  hate  of  the  Germans,  so 
frankly  expressed  in  the  introductory  remarks  of  his 
essay  (which  Mr.  Arnold  ought  not  to  have  omitted), 
had  been  able  to  form  anything  like  a  just  estimate 
of  their  chief  poet.  Under  the  pseudo-judicial  mask 
we  catch  a  glimpse  now  and  then  of  a  calm  maligni- 
ty which  tramples  with  ill-concealed  delight  upon 
the  most  precious  treasures  of  the  national  enemy. 

**  I  will  show  you  what  a  poor  and  tawdry  individ- 
ual he  is,  this  idol  of  yours,  whom  you  reverence  so 
deeply,"  he  appears  to  say ;  and  it  is  with  this  ani- 
mus, and  not  with  the  well-informed,  cleai'-sighted 
impartiality  with  which  Mr.  Arnold  credits  him,  that 
he  approached  the  task  of  presenting  Goethe  to  his 
countrymen. 

"  He  is  not  warped  by  injustice  and  ill-will  toward 
Germany,"  says  Mr.  Arnold,  "although  the  war  has 
undoubtedly  left  him  with  a  feeling  of  soreness.  He 
is  candid  and  cool,  perhaps  a  little  cold." 

We  venture  to  question  whether  this  encomium  is 
compatible  with  M.  Scherer's  own  statement  of  his 
sentiments. 

"The  Germans  have  retaliated  upon  us  the  right 
of  conquest ;  they  have  defeated  us  with  envious 
hatred  and  cowardly  insult.  They  have  committed 
toward  us  offences  which  are  not  to  be  pardoned. 
But  if  it  is  just  to  detest  Germany,  it  would  be  puerile 
on  that  account  to  try  to  ignore  her.  That  has  been 
done,  we  know.  The  charm  which  formerly  attracted 
us  to  her  is  forever  broken.     We  do  not  expect  any 


90  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

more  from  her  elevating  ideas  or  ennobling  senti- 
ments." 

We  do  not  say  that  the  feelings  here  expressed  are 
not  pardonable,  and  perhaps  even  uatui-al ;  but  sure- 
ly a  criticism  animated  by  such  feelings  must  be  any- 
thing but  "clear-sighted,"  "cool,"  and  "impartial" 
Even  coldness  is  too  weak  a  term  for  its  characteriza- 
tion, for  detestation  implies  a  considerable  degree  of 
heat.  It  is  passionate  resentment  of  a  supposed  na- 
tional wrong,  openly  professed  and  rarely  disguised, 
that  we  find  in  M.  Scherer's  writings  on  Goethe. 

But  one  more  quotation  to  justify  this  judgment 
and  we  shall  have  done  with  M.  Scherer : 

"He  [Goethe]  has  left  no  distinct  and  living 
figure.  His  characters  lack  relief  because  they  lack 
spontaneity.  His  'Weriher'  is  silly,  his  'Faust'  is 
fantastic,  his  '  Tasso '  is  only  redeemed  by  his 
madness,  the  novel  '  Wilhelm  Meister '  is,  according 
to  the  expression  of  Niebuhr,  '  a  menagerie  of  tame 
animals,'  and  as  for  the  Memoirs  of  Goethe,  they  are 
a  heap  of  lifeless  ashes  cooled  ofif,  over  which  one 
only  sees  some  fantastic  resemblances  capriciously 
trace  themselves." 

If  a  man  otherwise  sane  and  in  many  respects 
highly  gifted  can  stultify  himself  to  the  extent  here 
indicated,  he  surely  does  not  deserve  to  be  treated 
with  the  suave  deference  which  Mr.  Arnold  accords 
to  this  malignant  and  disgruntled  Frenchman.* 

*  M.  Edmond  Scherer  was  of  Swiss  descent,  and  though 
born  in  Paris  (1815)  occupied  for  some  years  the  chair  of 
Biblical  Exegesis  at  the  Geneva  Academy. 


THE  ENGLISH  ESTIMATE   OF  GOETHE     9I 

As  a  mere  contrast,  let  us  see  how  Goethe,  un- 
der circumstances  vastly  more  trj'ing,  regarded  the 
French  ;  for  Napoleon  I.  had  surely  not  the  justifica- 
tion for  invading  German  territory  that  the  late  Em- 
peror William  had  for  invading  France.  The  French 
Emperor  was  engaged  in  a  war  of  aggression  and 
conquest,  while  the  Germans  in  1870  merely  ac- 
cepted a  challenge  and  avenged  an  ancient  wrong. 
In  a  conversation  with  his  friend  Soret  concerning 
his  attitude  during  the  War  of  Liberation,  Goethe 
made  these  agnificant  remarks,  which  reveal  a  large- 
ness and  serenity  of  soul  incomprehensible  appar- 
ently to  a  man  of  M.  Scherer's  calibre  : 

"How  could  I  write  songs  of  hate  without  hating? 
And,  between  ourselves,  I  did  not  hate  the  French, 
although  I  thanked  God  when  we  were  rid  of  them. 
How  could  I,  to  whom  culture  and  barbarism  are 
alone  of  importance,  hate  a  nation  which  is  among 
the  most  cultivated  of  the  earth,  and  to  which  I  owe 
so  large  a  share  of  my  own  culture?  Altogether  na- 
tional hate  is  a  peculiar  thing.  You  will  always  find 
it  strongest  and  most  violent  at  the  lowest  stage  of 
culture.  But  there  is  a  stage  where  it  vanishes  al- 
together, and  where  one  stands,  to  a  certain  extent, 
above  the  nations,  and  feels  the  weal  and  woe  of  a 
neighboring  people,  as  if  it  had  happened  to  be  one's 
own.  This  degree  of  culture  was  conformable  to  my 
nature,  and  I  had  become  strengthened  in  it  long 
before  I  reached  my  sixtieth  year." 

Mr.  Arnold  admits  that  Goethe  is  greater  than  M. 
Scherer's  presentation  of  him  would  lead  us  to  sup- 


92  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

pose.  "  Tone  and  perspective  are  somehow  a  little 
wrong,"  is  his  guarded  and  hyper-judicial  phrase. 
His  dislike  of  rhetoric  and  enthusiastic  exaggeration 
brings  him  perilously  near  to  the  opposite  extreme, 
that  of  colorless  understatement  and  undervalua- 
tion. It  is  possibly  a  consciousness  of  this  which 
induces  him  to  sum  up  his  estimate  of  Goethe  in  a 
trenchant  and  authoritative  judgment  which  is  so 
glaringly  at  variance  with  that  of  M.  Scherer  that 
it  instantly  invalidates  all  the  praise  which  he  has 
bestowed  upon  the  latter : 

*'  Goethe  is  the  greatest  poet  of  modern  times,  not 
because  he  is  one  of  the  half-dozen  human  beings 
who  in  the  history  of  our  race  have  shown  the  most 
signal  gift  for  poetry,  but  because  having  a  very  con- 
siderable gift  for  poetry  he  was  at  the  same  time,  in 
the  width,  depth,  and  richness  of  his  criticism  of  life, 
by  far  our  greatest  modern  man.  .  .  .  Nay,  his 
px'eciousness  and  importance  as  a  clear  and  profound 
modern  spirit,  as  a  master-critic  of  modern  life,  must 
communicate  a  worth  of  their  own  to  his  poetry,  and 
may  well  make  it  seem  to  have  a  positive  value  and 
perfectness  as  poetry  more  than  it  has." 

One  perceives  a  long  vista  of  thought  behind 
these  incisive  and  memorable  words.  They  are  the 
visible  summit  resting  upon  a  broad  base  of  study 
and  speculation.  When  taken  in  connection  with 
"Mx.  Arnold's  other  notable  utterance  concerning 
Goethe,  that  he  is  "  the  clearest,  the  largest,  the  most 
helpful  thinker  of  modern  times,"  they  leave  noth- 
ing to  be  desired.     Standing  alone  and  without  the 


THE  ENGLISH  ESTIMATE   OF  GOETHE     93 

qualifications  to  be  inferred  from  the  indorsement 
of  M.  Scherer,  they  would  constitute  a  final  and  satis- 
factory judgment  But  that  insidious  way  of  damn- 
ing a  great  man  with  faint  praise,  adopted  by  the 
censorious  Frenchman,  ought  not  to  have  imposed 
upon  so  astute  a  critic  as  Mr.  Arnold,  especially  when 
at  the  very  outset  the  judicial  attitude  is  disclaimed 
and  a  bitter  rancor  is  openly  avowed. 

A  certain  degree  of  sympathy,  without  which 
critical  insight  is  impossible,  is  needed  for  the  inter- 
pretation of  poetry  ;  or,  as  Goethe  put  it,  "  a  work 
of  art  can  be  comprehended  by  the  head  only  with 
the  assistance  of  the  heart."  This  assistance  of  the 
heart  M.  Scherer  entirely  dispenses  with.  No 
effort  is  made  by  him  to  reproduce  in  himself  the 
spirit  in  which  "  Werther  "  and  "  Faust  "  are  writ- 
ten, nor  even  to  put  them  in  connection  with  the 
national  and  social  conditions  from  which  they 
sprang.  Instead  of  that  he  stands  aloof  and  utters 
hasty  and  sweeping  condemnations  which  as  expres- 
sions of  national  hate  are  pardonable,  but  as  criti- 
cism worthless. 

Mr.  Richard  Holt  Button's  essay  on  "Goethe 
and  his  Influence  "  *  is  such  a  beautiful  piece  of 
work,  and  so  manifestly  intended  to  be  just  and 
fair,  that  it  seems  almost  ungracious  to  question 
any  of  its  statements.  Mr.  Hutton  contemplates 
Goethe  from  a  point  of  view  quite  different  from 
that  of  Mr.  Arnold.     While  the  latter  admires  his 

*  Essays,  Theological  and  Literary,  vol.  ii.,  London,  1880. 


94  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Olympian  serenity — his  calm  and  unbiassed  atti- 
tude toward  all  phenomena — the  former  regards 
this  as  a  limitation.  To  the  apostle  of  sweetness 
and  light,  Goethe's  secularism,  not  to  say  his  pagan- 
ism, was  highly  congenial  and  in  accord  with  his 
own  philosophy,  while  to  the  author  of  "Essays, 
Theological  and  Literary  "  it  is  an  obnoxious  thing, 
to  which  he  finds  it  difficult  to  do  justice. 

"  The  entire  superseding  of  personal  trust  by  self- 
reliance,  the  absence  of  all  trace  of  humility,  the 
calm,  superior  glance  which  he  cast  into  the  mys- 
tery around,  but  never  into  the  holiness  above,  him, 
gave  often  a  heathen  coloring  to  his  works.  .  .  . 
This  power  of  assuming  at  will  a  cruel  moral  in- 
difiference  to  that  which  he  did  not  choose  to  have 
agitating  him,  is  the  feeling  he  has  so  finely  em- 
bodied in  the  picture  of  the  gods  contained  in  the 
song  of  the  Fates  in  'Iphigenia.'" 

The  judgment  here  pronounced  contains  an  in- 
dubitable truth  which  no  one  can  ignore  in  making 
up  his  final  estimate  of  Goethe.  To  Mr.  Hutton  it 
constitutes  his  chief  gravamen  against  a  character 
which  in  many  respects  attracts  him.  As  a  Chris- 
tian and  a  theologian  he  is  compelled  to  condemn 
the  calmly  scientific  spirit  which  with  perfect  awe- 
lessness  pried  into  all  the  mysteries  of  nature,  and 
although  respecting  all  forms  of  religious  belief, 
viewed  them  with  a  mere  philosophic  interest  and 
espoused  none.  Mr.  Hutton  remarks,  in  a  still 
higher  degree,  this  unabashed  curiosity  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  unknowable  in  Shelley  and  character- 


THE  ENGLISH  ESTIMATE   OF  GOETHE    95 

izes  it  with  a  masterly  artistic  distinctness.*  But 
there  is  an  essential  difference  between  Goethe's 
attitude  toward  religion  and  that  of  Shelley.  A 
kind  of  passionate  non-conformism — a  need  to  pro- 
test against  everything  which  he  disbelieved  in — was, 
from  his  earliest  youth,  characteristic  of  the  Eng- 
lish poet ;  while  the  German,  regarding  all  existing 
institutions  (religion  not  excepted)  as  manifesta- 
tions of  law  and  conditions  of  orderly  progress, 
held  them  to  be  worthy  of  the  respect  and  support 
of  evei"y  good  citizen.  Shelley  reminds  one  of  the 
English  traveller  in  catholic  countries  who  persists 
in  standing  bolt  upright  with  his  conspicuous  hat  on, 
when  the  holy  Host  is  carried  through  the  streets 
and  all  bare  their  heads  and  many  kneel.  Goethe, 
though  he  would  intellectually  have  shared  Shelley's 
view  of  the  ceremony,  would  instinctively  have  con- 
formed to  the  common  custom.  He  cherished  no 
animosity  toward  any  form  of  belief,  and  did  not,  like 
Shelley,  wage  war  against  Christianity.  All  religions 
represented  to  him  the  human  aspiration  for  truth. 
They  were  all  more  or  less  imperfect  embodiments 
of  man's  conceptions  of  the  Infinite,  and  subject  to 
growth  in  accordance  with  humanity's  intellectual 
and  spiritual  progress.  Even  superstition,  under 
which  term  Shelley  embraced  all  that  men  reverence 
as  sacred,  was  to  Goethe  but  obscurity  of  vision, 
not  a  malign  power  which  had   for  its  own  dark 

*  Mr.  Hiitton's  essay,  Shelley's  Poetical  Mysticism,  is,  to 
our  mind,  one  of  the  noblest  pieces  of  literature  of  its  kind 
in  the  English  language. 


g6  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

purposes  stricken  humanity  with  blindness.  Vol- 
taii'e's  notorious  kcrasez  Vinfdine  was  in  perfect  con- 
formity with  the  spirit  of  Shelley,  but  would  have 
been  condemned  by  Goethe  as  indicative  of  a  shal- 
low and  utterly  unphilosophical  brain. 

There  is  no  implication  in  this  comparison  that 
Mr.  Hutton  would  be  capable  of  confounding 
Goethe's  attitude  with  that  of  Shelley  ;  but  I  have 
a  strong  suspicion  that  the  latter's  fearless  and  out- 
spoken hostility  appears  to  him  less  obnoxious  than 
the  former's  philosophic  benevolence.  Speaking  of 
Goethe's  writings  in  general  he  says  with  perfect 
candor : 

"  They  invariably  repel  at  first  English  readers 
with  English  views  of  life  and  duty.  As  the  char- 
acteristic atmosphere  of  the  man  distils  into  your 
life,  you  find  the  magnetic  force  coming  strongly 
over  3'ou ;  you  ai*e  as  a  man  mesmerized  ;  you  feel 
the  calm  independence  of  so  much  on  which  you 
helplessly  lean,  combined  with  his  thorough  insight 
into  that  desire  of  yours  to  lean,  drawing  you  irre- 
sistibly toward  the  invisible  intellectual  centre  at 
which  such  independent  strength  and  such  genial 
breadth  of  thought  was  possible," 

That  is  an  admirable  statement  of  the  fascination 
which  Goethe  exercises  over  his  disciples.  But  Mr. 
Hutton,  as  his  essay  shows,  feels  the  repulsion  no 
less  strongly  than  the  mesmeric  attraction,  and  he 
guards  his  critical  independence  manfully.  I  fancy, 
though  I  may  be  wrong,  that  he  came  to  Goethe 
too  late  in  life  to  fall  under  the  sway  of  his  fasci- 


THE  ENGLISH  ESTIMATE   OF   GOETHE     9/ 

nation.  And  the  theological  temper  would  seem 
to  constitute  an  obscuring  mist  through  which  the 
poet  may,  indeed,  loom  up  colossal,  but  with 
rather  a  sinister  aspect.  That  a  religious  man 
should  judge  Goethe  from  a  religious  point  of  view 
is  natural  enough  ;  and  it  is  most  useful  to  have  his 
life  and  work  scrutinized  from  this  point  of  view,  and 
its  possible  defects  and  inconsistencies  revealed. 
This  would  constitute  what  Mr.  Arnold  calls  the 
judgment  of  incompatibility,  which  in  the  hands  of 
a  man  like  Mr.  Hutton  cannot  fail  to  yield  profit- 
able results.  And  it  is  with  no  desire  to  minimize 
the  excellence  and  helpfulness  of  his  beautifully  dis- 
criminating essay  that  I  shall  venture  to  point  out 
some  instances  of  what  appears  to  me,  the  disciple, 
faulty  intei-pretation.  The  "  judgment  of  gratitude 
and  sympathy"  and  that  of  conscientious  incom- 
patibility are  bound  to  clash  in  many  points,  and 
they  may  thereby  mutually  rectify  each  other  and 
enable  the  reader  to  arrive  at  a  right  conclusion. 

Unless  Mr.  Hutton  was  a  bachelor  when  he  wrote 
the  present  essay,  it  is  difficult  to  account  for  the 
following  passage  : 

"  He  [Goethe]  was  a  reflective,  old  fashioned, 
calmly  imaginative  child,  always  fascinated  by  a 
mystery,  but  never,  properly  speaking,  awed  by  it. 
It  kindled  his  imagination  ;  it  never  subdued  him. 
He  was  full  of  wonder  and  quite  without  veneration. 
In  the  '  altar  of  the  Lord '  which  the  child  secretly 
built  on  a  music-stand  of  his  father's  at  seven,  and 
on  which  ho  burnt  incense  in  the  shape  of  a  pastil 


98  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

until  he  found  that  he  was  in  danger  of  injuring  his 
altar,  lie  was  innocently  playing  with  a  subject  which 
to  almost  any  other  child  would  have  been  too  sacred 
for  imaginative  amusement." 

If  my  recollection  of  my  childhood  and  my  con- 
stant association  with  children  have  taught  me  any- 
thing, it  is  that  they  very  rarely  possess  this  venera- 
tion for  the  sanctity  of  woi'ship,  at  the  age  of  seven, 
and  never  unless  it  has  been  carefully  implanted  in 
them  by  teaching  and  example.  The  references  of 
children  to  God  and  their  continual  questionings  con- 
cerning Him  are,  as  we  all  know,  apt  to  be  comically 
disrespectful,  often  shockingly  so.  I  remember  in 
my  childhood  "playing  church"  with  my  brothers 
and  sisters,  preaching  from  a  chair,  baptizing  kittens, 
saying  mass  *  before  an  improvised  altar,  etc.,  with- 
out the  remotest  suspicion  of  its  being  sacrilegious  ; 
and  I  have  seen  my  own  children  and  those  of  my 
friends  indulging  in  similar  games.  The  imitative 
instinct  is,  in  nine  children  out  of  ten,  far  stronger 
than  their  sense  of  reverence,  and  is  constantly  ex- 
ercised without  thought  of  harm  upon  that  which  to 
their  eldei*s  is  most  sacred. 

But  a  graver  delinquency  is,  to  my  mind,  Mr.  Hut- 
ton's  disj)aragement  of  the  Second  Part  of  "Faust." 
He  has  evidently  never  taken  adequate  pains  to 
find  out  what  this  gigantic  structure  of  philosophic 
thought  means,  or  whether  it  means  anything.  Evi- 
dently he  inclines  to  the  latter  opinion,  for  otherwise 
he  could  not  have  compared  Goethe's  "  childlike  de- 
*  Lutheran  clergymen  in  Norway  still  use  the  mass. 


THE  ENGLISH  ESTIMATE   OF   GOETHE     99 

light  in  puzzling  his  readers,"  in  his  boyish  fairy- 
tale, "The  New  Paris,"  "with  his  mystification  of 
Eckermauu,  when  he  asked  for  the  meaning  of  the 
passage  concerning  'the  Mothers.'" 

To  suppose  that  Goethe,  from  a  mere  idle  desire 
to  mystify,  disfigured  his  chief  work  with  a  meaning- 
less or  pseudo-profound  allusion,  shows  a  disrespect 
for  his  artistic  sincerity  which  is  surprising  in  a  man 
of  Mr.  Hntton's  earnestness  and  freedom  from  prej- 
udice. I  know  that  he  is  here  in  general  agreement 
with  English  opinion,  but  English  opinion  concern- 
ing the  Second  Part  of  "  Faust,"  in  so  far  as  it  exists, 
is  based  upon  ignorance.  Obviously  Mr.  Hutton  has 
no  more  than  Matthew  Arnold  made  any  determined 
effort  to  comprehend  the  enormous  scope  and  com- 
plexity of  that  much-abused,  but,  on  that  account 
no  less  valuable,  work.  The  mere  fact  that  Goethe 
wrote  it  would  seem  to  entitle  it  to  serious  considera- 
tion. It  is  not  easily  understood.  It  does  not  yield 
up  its  meaning  to  a  mere  cursory  reader.  It  is  not, 
as  poetry,  equal  to  the  First  Part ;  but  without  it  the 
First  Part  is  nothing  but  a  series  of  dramatic  epi- 
sodes, and  the  whole  philosophic  meaning,  which  is, 
after  all,  what  gives  "  Faust "  its  high  place  in  litera- 
ture, would  be  lost.  So  far  from  being  a  mistake  of 
Goethe's  old  age — "  a  fantastic  piece  of  senile  folly," 
as  I  heard  an  eminent  Englishman  call  it — it  con- 
tains the  quintessence  of  its  authoi-'s  philosophy  of 
life,  the  summary  of  his  worldly  wisdom.  Though  of 
a  somewhat  conglomerate  character,  and  suffering 
from  occasional  obscurity,  it  is  organically  coherent 


lOO  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

with  the  First  Part  and  is  as  essential  a  part  of  the 
grand  design.  That  Goethe  regarded  it  as  such  is 
obvious  from  his  remark  to  Eckermann  (August, 
1831),  when  he  had  finished  the  last  scene  of  his 
completed  "  Faust "  :  "  My  life  henceforth,"  he 
said,  "  I  may  view  as  a  pure  gift ;  and  it  is  now 
really  of  small  account  whether  I  do  anything  and 
what  I  do." 

Let  IVIr.  Hutton  read  the  interesting  discussion 
concerning  "  Faust "  in  Goethe's  correspondence  with 
Schiller,  and  above  all  let  him  note  the  noble  ear- 
nestness and  lofty  conception  of  their  poetic  calling 
which  characterize  both  writers,  and  I  fancy  that 
he  would  feel  inclined  to  revise  his  judgment  con- 
cerning the  significance  of  "  the  Mothers."  There 
is,  indeed,  nothing  so  very  mysterious  in  this  allu- 
sion ;  but  to  explain  it  would  involve  a  longer  ex- 
cursion into  the  philosophy  of  "  Faust "  than  my 
space  here  permits.  I  may,  perhaps,  be  permitted 
to  refer  anyone  who  desires  further  information  to 
my  "Commentary  on  Faust,"*  where  the  subject  is 
treated  at  some  length. 

With  the  exception  of  his  rather  sweeping  con- 
demnation of  "  Wilhelm  Meister,"  which  also  betrays 
spiritual  alienism  and  lack  of  sympathy,  I  have  no 
further  quarrel  with  Mr.  Hutton,  but  much  appreci- 
ation of  his  critical  acumen  and  his  beautiful  felicity 
of  language.     Before  taking  leave   of  him  I  shall 

*  An  explanation  of  the  Second  Part  of  Fanst  will  be  found 
in  my  book,  Goethe  and  Schiller,  Their  Lives  and  Works. 
New  York,  1879. 


THE  ENGLISH  ESTIMATE   OF  GOETHE    1 01 

take  the  liberty  to  quote  a  few  of  his  most  vigor- 
ous  characterizations  : 

"  Goethe  never  became  a  selfish  man  in  the  coarse 
sense  of  the  term.  He  always  cultivated  benignant, 
unselfish  sympathies  as  the  most  graceful  elements 
in  this  same  fancy-pyramid  of  his  existence.  He 
was  generous  by  nature,  and  would  give  up  from 
kindly  feeling  anything  that  was  not  of  the  essence 
of  himself." 

"  He  wished  for  love  with  limited  liability  ;  he  did 
not  wish  to  devote  himself  to  any  one  but  himself. 
This  limited  liability  did  not  so  well  meet  the  views 
of  the  young  ladies  themselves,  who  were  sometimes, 
to  his  infinite  embarrassment,  willing  even  to  go  to 
America  with  him,  or  anything  else." 

"It  ('Gotz')  is  the  only  great  production  of  Goethe 
in  which  a  really  noble,  self-forgetful  man  stands 
out  in  the  foreground  to  give  us  a  moral  standard 
by  which  to  measure  the  meaner  characters." 

"His  (Goethe's)  other  poetry,  often  exquisitely 
fine,  has  the  polish  of  high  art  upon  it ;  but  his 
lyrics  seem  to  escape  as  unconsciously  from  the 
essence  of  the  earth  as  the  scent  from  a  violet,  or 
the  music  from  a  bird." 

"  I  grant  his  was  a  light  and  spacious  mind.  I 
grant  that  he  was  the  wisest  man  of  modern  days 
who  lacked  the  wisdom  of  a  child  ;  the  deepest, 
who  never  knew  what  it  was  to  kneel  in  the  dust 
with  bowed  head  and  broken  heart." 

I  quote  this  last  dictum,  not  because  I  agree  with 
it,  but  in  order  to  emphasize  Mr.  Hutton's  attitude. 


I02  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

The  "wisdom  of  a  child"  seems  to  me  a  glaring 
misnomer.  For  simplicity,  naivete,  trustful  accept- 
ance of  statements  on  authority  or  faith,  however 
admirable,  do  not  argue  wisdom  ;  and  they  are  quali- 
ties which  are  necessarily  lost,  as  the  child  advances 
to  intellectual  maturity.  If  Mr.  Hutton  had  said 
"  the  faith  of  a  child,"  I  should  have  subscribed  to 
his  statement.  But  the  faith  of  a  grown-up  man 
who  has  thought  much  and  questioned  the  Sphinx 
of  Existence  with  indomitable  perseverance  and  pa- 
tience cannot  partake  of  the  quality  of  the  child's 
faith,  which  is  mere  blind  acceptance  without  reason, 
doubt,  or  research. 

My  third  representative  of  British  opinion  con- 
cerning Goethe  is  Professor  John  Stuart  Blackie,  of 
Edinburgh,  whose  preface  and  introduction  to  his 
book,  "  Tlie  Wisdom  of  Goethe,"  contain  as  adequate 
and  sympathetic  a  judgment  of  the  poet  as  is  any- 
where to  be  found.  I  know,  outside  of  Germany, 
no  critic  who  seems  to  have  felt  the  spirit  of  Goethe 
so  acutely,  and  breathed  his  atmosphere  with  such  a 
sense  of  kinship  and  well  being.  No  evidence  can  I 
discover  that  Professor  Blackie  had  any  British  prej- 
udice to  overcome,  before  he  suiTendered  to  the 
attraction  of  Goethe's  personality.  There  is  no  ob- 
scuring fog  in  his  mind  ;  but  a  passionless  impartial- 
ity and  sincerity  which  constitute  the  best  possible 
medium  for  critical  observation.  A  little  touch  of 
partisanship  may  be  manifest  here  and  there,  in  his 
determination  to  combat  the  common  view,  which 
is,  to  his  mind,  unjust  and  ignorant. 


THE  ENGLISH  ESTIMATE    OF   GOETHE    IO3 

"Two  such  opposite  types  of  national  character 
[as  the  English  and  the  German]  as  soon  as  they 
come  near  enough  to  provoke  a  mutual  estimate, 
naturally  produce  a  clash  ;  and  in  this  way  the 
English,  who  in  their  days  of  intellectual  isolation — 
days  yet  fresh  in  the  memory  of  living  men — gloried 
in  simply  despising  the  Germans,  now  that  the  cur- 
rent of  events  has  brought  with  it  a  general  necessity 
of  international  recognition,  too  often  make  this  re- 
cognition through  a  thick  atmosphere  of  misconception 
and  a  strong  tincture  of  i:)rejudice."  * 

As  my  own  conception  of  Goethe's  character  coin- 
cides in  all  essentials  with  that  of  Professor  Blackie, 
I  quote  him  merely  for  the  purpose  of  reinforcing 
with  his  authority  opinions  which  in  this  country 
need  to  be  emphasized  by  repetition  : 

"  He  [Goethe]  was  at  the  same  time  possessed  of 
such  singularly  original  force  and  rich  completeuess 
of  character  as  to  have  led  his  people  over  from  a 
state  of  feebleness  and  dependence  on  foreign  influ- 
ences into  a  state  of  firmly  rooted  native  growth, 
luxuriant  blossom,  and  beneficent  fruitage." 

"  He  could  never  either  think  or  feel  or  act  in- 
dependently of  his  environment,  and  his  course  of 
activity,  though  radically  proceeding,  no  doubt,  from 
what  he  was,  depended  in  each  individual  case  upon 
where  he  was.  His  was  a  nature  to  learn  from  every- 
bod}',  and  to  be  touched  by  everything  ;  he  had  a 
grand  zest  of  living,  and  put  forth  loving  arms  in  all 
directions  freely,  in  order  to  live  largely." 
*  The  italics  are  my  own. — H.  H.  B. 


I04  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

"He  lived  and  died,  not  without  hard  work,  in- 
deed, and  hard  struggles,  much  less  untouched  by 
the  envy  which  always  waits  vipon  merit,  especially 
in  the  first  steps  of  its  ascent,  but  in  the  end  em- 
phatically a  rich  man  ;  rich  in  friends,  rich  in  love, 
rich  in  insight,  and  rich  in  good  works." 

"Hutton,  in  his  admirable  essay  above  quoted, 
talks  as  if  Goethe  had  small  capacity  for  friendship. 
But  this  is  true  only  of  a  particular  kind,  of  clinging 
and  engrossing  friendship,  which  to  some  minds  is 
a  necessity.  That  Goethe  did  not  require  a  friend, 
as  some  do,  to  look  up  to,  was  the  necessary  conse- 
quence of  the  Olympian  character  of  his  intellect. 
Jupiter  on  his  throne  may  have  favorites,  but  no 
fellows." 

The  judgment  here  quoted,  though  in  one  sense 
just,  is,  perhaps,  misleading.  To  make  it  true  it 
stands  in  need  of  amplification.  Goethe  had,  par- 
ticularly in  his  youth,  a  great  capacity  for  friend- 
ship, not  merely  of  the  Olympian  order  but  of  the 
clinging,  sentimental  kind.  Such  was,  for  instance, 
his  relation  to  Fritz  Jacobi,  and  in  a  lesser  degTee 
to  Lavater,  But  he  outgrew  both  these  men  intel- 
lectually, and  he  could  not  in  later  years  persuade 
himself  to  feign  fidelity  to  the  ghost  of  a  friendship 
which  had  long  been  dead.  A  friendship,  in  order 
to  be  real,  must  be  based  upon  a  community  of 
tastes,  sentiments,  or  interests  ;  and  whenever  such 
a  community  of  sentiments  has  ceased  to  exist,  the 
friendship  is  by  that  very  fact  dead.  Goethe's  high 
sincerity  and  his  fidelity  to  his  best  self  compelled 


THE  ENGLISH  ESTIMATE   OF  GOETHE    IO5 

him  in  many  instances  to  sacrifice  relations  which, 
though  once  helpful  and  mutually  stimulating,  had 
become  a  burden  and  a  hindrance  to  his  growth.  This 
is  hardly  selfishness,  but  a  duty  which  every  sin- 
cere man  owes  to  himself.  You  can  do  your  friend 
no  good  by  feigning  for  him  a  feeling  which  no 
longer  possesses  you  ;  and  all  talk  about  "  fidelity  " 
under  such  circumstances  is  but  a  remnant  of  the 
old  feudal  ideal,  which  took  less  note  of  personal 
compatibility  than  of  a  purely  external  allegiance 
which  you  owed  to  your  friend,  as  you  did  to  your 
sovereign. 

Professor  Blackie's  reference  to  the  long  series  of 
Goethe's  loves  is  characterized  by  the  same  large- 
hearted  comprehension  and  liberal  spirit : 

"  To  Goethe  the  sight  of  any  beautiful  object  was 
like  delicate  music  to  the  ear  of  the  cunning  musi- 
cian ;  he  was  carried  away  by  it,  and  floated  in  its 
element  joyously,  as  a  swallow  in  the  summer  air, 
or  a  sea-mew  on  the  buoyant  wave.  Hence  the 
rich  story  of  Goethe's  loves,  with  which  scandal,  of 
course,  and  prudery  have  made  their  market ;  but 
which,  when  looked  into  carefully,  were  just  as  much 
part  of  his  genius  as  'Faust'  and  'Iphigenia,*  a  part 
without  which,  indeed,  neither  'Faust'  nor  'Iphi- 
genia '  could  ever  have  been  written.  .  .  .  Let 
no  man  therefore  take  offence  when  I  say  roundly 
that  Goethe  was  always  falling  in  love,  and  that  I 
consider  this  a  great  virtue  in  his  character.  Had 
he  not  done  so,  he  would  not  have  been  half  the 
man,  nor  the  tenth  part  of  the  poet  that  he  was," 


I06  GERMAN-  LITERATURE 

But  two  more  passages  I  have  marked  for  quota- 
tion, both  of  which  are  essential  to  the  character- 
ization of  Goethe.  The  first  expresses  a  thought 
which  Mr.  Huttou  has  i-endered  with  no  less  felic- 
ity: 

"  When  he  [Goethe]  writes,  he  is  not  doing  a 
thing  to  make  you  stare,  or  to  make  himself  feel  as 
if  he  were  out  of  the  body  for  a  season  ;  he  is  merely 
living  out  his  life — he  is  merely  achieving  the  biU 
dung  or  the  culture  which  nature  meant  for  his  Ufe- 
task,  when  she  drew  out  his  members  marvellously 
in  the  womb." 

In  sj)eaking  of  the  common  English  view  of  Goe- 
the, in  his  relation  to  women,  Professor  Blackie 
cites  with  approval  an  extract  fx*om  "  The  Journal  of 
Caroline  Fox : " 

"With  regard  to  Goethe's  character,  the  more 
Stirling  *  examines  the  less  he  believes  in  his  having 
wilfully  trifled  with  the  feelings  of  women.  With 
regard  to  his  selfishness,  he  holds  that  he  did  but 
give  the  fullest,  freest  scope  for  the  exercise  of  his 
gift,  and  as  we  are  all  gainers  thereby,  we  cannot 
call  it  selfishness." 

Well,  selfishness  is  a  relative  term,  and  depends 
largely  upon  your  point  of  view.  It  must  be  borne 
in  mind  that  Goethe  was  a  child  of  the  eighteenth 
centuiy,  which  was  the  age  of  individualism  par  ex- 
cellence. The  subordination  of  the  citizen  to  the 
state,  and  his  duty  to  the  commonwealth,  were  doc- 
trines which  would  have  sounded  strange  to  the 
*  Carlyles  well  known  friend,  John  Stirling. 


THE  ENGLISH  ESTIMATE   OF  GOETHE    IO7 

generation  that  preceded  the  French  Ee volution. 
Each  man  and  woman  who  was  conscious  of  an  in- 
dividuality was  then  (like  Goethe)  occupied  in  rear- 
ing "the  pyramid  of  his  existence"  as  high  as 
possible ;  and  it  made  very  little  difference  to  him 
whether,  in  so  doing,  he  overshadowed  the  neigh- 
boring pyramids  or  encroached  upon  their  territory. 
Goethe  was  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  desire  to 
grow  to  the  largest  possible  stature  of  manhood, 
which  desire  is  utterly  incompatible  with  the  altruis- 
tic ideal.  Therefore  let  us  concede  that  he  was  selfish 
to  the  extent  necessitated  by  his  ideal  of  life.  Ruth- 
lessly egoistic  he  was  certainly  not,  first,  because  of 
the  innate  kindliness  of  his  nature,  and  secondly, 
because  he  would  have  regarded  any  unnecessary 
self-assertion  "as  undignified  and  a  blemish  upon  the 
character,  which,  in  accordance  with  his  own  con- 
ception, he  wished  to  make  perfect.  The  degree  of 
altruism  compatible  with  self-preservation  has  never 
been  definitely  settled,  nor  can  it  ever  be  settled. 
It  must  vary  with  the  age  and  with  the  individual. 
And  the  degree  of  self-sacrifice  compatible  with  a 
high  self-development,  ascendency',  and  intellectual 
dominance,  is  a  question  of  still  greater  complexity. 
Whether  Goethe's  conduct  is  to  be  termed  egoistic 
or  altruistic,  depends  primarily  upon  the  tribunal 
before  which  he  is  to  be  arraigned.  If  that  tribu- 
nal be  governed  by  the  code  of  the  century  into 
which  he  was  born,  the  verdict  will  be  favorable  ;  if 
it  be  governed  by  that  of  the  nineteenth  century, 
the  judgment  may  incline  toward  severit}'.     But  the 


I08  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

judgment  of  posterity  will  be  that  he  practised  the 
exact  degree  of  altruism  or  of  egoism  that  was  con- 
sistent with  his  own  ideal  of  life.  Measured  by  the 
standard  of  Pascal  or  St.  Francis  of  Assisi,  he  was  an 
egoist ;  but  by  that  of  Napoleon,  he  was  an  altruist. 


IV. 

SOME  ENGLISH  TRANSLATIONS  OF 
GOETHE 


EMERSON  revealed  in  a  striking  manner  the 
limitations  of  his  mind,  when  he  declared  that 
he  would  just  as  soon  swim  across  the  Charles  River, 
instead  of  taking  the  bridge,  as  read  a  foreign  book 
in  the  original  when  he  could  procure  a  good  trans- 
lation. Goodness,  to  be  sure,  is  an  elastic  term,  and 
may  be  stretched  to  include  anything.  As  far  as 
one  may  judge  from  the  general  tenor  of  Emerson's 
writings,  he  would  call  a  translation  good  which 
rendered  the  meaning  of  the  original  with  a  fair  de- 
gree of  clearness  and  accuracy.  To  charms  of  style 
and  harmony  of  sound  he  was  never  very  sensitive. 
He  commended  Carlyle's  translation  of  "Wilhelm 
Meister,"  which  transforms  the  fluent,  limpid,  and 
well-balanced  periods  of  Goethe  into  a  crabbed  and 
thorny  English,  bristling  with  the  individuality,  not 
of  the  authoi',  but  of  the  translator.  It  is  rarely  that 
a  man  is  born  less  fitted  for  the  work  of  translating 
than  Carlyle  ;  and  if  Emerson  had  not  been  his 
friend,  he  would  probably  have  discovered  that  the 
Enfflish  "  Wilhelm  Meister "  has  little  in  common 


1 1 0  GERM  AN  LITER  A  TURE 

with  the  German  original  except  the  story.  But  an 
artist  of  Goethe's  rank  is  never  content  with  the 
mere  telling  of  a  story.  Take,  for  instance,  "  The 
Sorrows  of  Werther,"  which  as  a  story  amounts  to 
nothing,  but  which  nevertheless  exercises  a  potent 
charm,  and  is  regarded  as  one  of  the  most  exquisite 
products  of  German  literature.  The  British  barba- 
rian who  undertook  to  put  this  delicate  piece  of  im- 
aginative writing  into  English  for  the  Bohn  Library 
committed  an  offence  compared  with  which  that  of 
Carlyle  was  venial.  For  Carlyle  produced  a  coher- 
ent and  interesting  book  with  a  definite  style,  al- 
though it  was  not  that  of  Goethe  ;  while  the  mu- 
tilator of  "  Werther  "  simply  bungled  along  with  a 
heavy  hand,  unconscious  of  the  beauties  which  he 
killed  at  every  stroke  of  his  sacrilegious  pen.  He 
produced  a  book  in  which  scarcely  a  trace  of  the 
charm  of  the  original  is  discoverable  ;  and  English 
readers  who  know  the  fame  of  Goethe  have  been 
forced  to  the  conclusion  that  he  has  been  greatly 
overestimated,  and  that  German  literature  must  be 
poor  and  barren,  since  a  work  of  such  trifling  merit 
can  have  acquired  so  great  a  reputation. 

I  am  inclined  to  put  down  as  a  general  maxim 
that  the  more  replete  a  book  is  with  the  charms  of 
style  and  imaginative  colox'ing,  the  harder  it  is  to 
translate.  A  fact  may  be  as  well  expressed  in  one 
civilized  language  as  in  another.  A  thought  that  is 
sufficiently  definite  to  be  capable  of  expression  in 
English  can  usually  be  transposed  without  difficult}' 
into  German,  French,  and  Italian.     But  a  thought 


ENGLISH  TRANSLATIONS   OF  GOETHE    III 

may  be  expressed  feebly  or  strongly,  bunglingly  or 
felicitously,  and  it  sometimes  seems  as  if  it  were 
capable  of  a  far  more  striking  and  felicitous  utter- 
ance in  one  language  than  in  another.  Words  have 
color  and  flavor,  and  produce  an  independent  effect, 
quite  apart  from  the  thoughts  which  they  embody. 
Words  absolutely  synonymous  have  diflfereut  values, 
different  timbre,  different  harmonic  effects.  One 
word  has  poetic  dignity  and  elevation,  while  an- 
other, which  means  the  same,  is  prosaic  and  com- 
monplace. A  poet  who  failed  to  perceive  this  would 
be  a  lamentable  failure,  and  the  more  keenly  he  pei*- 
ceives  it,  the  more  untranslatable  he  is  sure  to  be. 

It  is  an  old  saying  that  "  it  takes  a  poet  to  trans- 
late a  poet."  It  does  not  follow  that  it  takes  a  great 
poet  to  translate  a  great  poet,  and  a  small  one  to 
translate  a  small  one.  On  the  contrary,  a  small  poet, 
if  gifted  with  this  peculiar  perception  of  the  individ- 
uality and  harmonic  value  of  words,  would  be  likely 
to  make  a  better  translator  than  one  of  greater  and 
more  commanding  personality.  The  former  would 
be  more  likely  to  respect  his  original,  while  the  lat- 
ter could  scarcely  avoid  obtruding  himself  and  giv- 
ing us  more  or  less  than  the  text  wan-anted. 

Coleridge  played  at  ducks  and  drakes  with  the 
text  of  Schiller's  "  Wallenstein,"  and  makes  one 
suspect  that  his  German  scholarship  was  defective  ; 
but  he  managed  to  produce  an  English  drama  full 
of  poetic  beauty,  though  with  a  sti'ouger  impress  of 
the  translator's  than  of  the  author's  style.  There  is 
not  the  flavor  of  Schiller,  so  distinct  to  those  who 


1 1 2  GERM  A  N  LITER  A  TURE 

have  breathed  it,  in  Coleridge's  "  Wallenstein  ;  "  but 
there  is  a  delightful  flavor  of  Coleridge.  Walter 
Scott,  on  the  other  hand,  has  given  a  comparatively 
faithful  rendering  of  Goethe's  "  Gotz,"  and  with  a 
youthful  and  tentative  hand  groped  for  the  Eng- 
lish equivalents  of  the  bold  German  phrases.  It  is 
distinctly  the  work  of  a  young  man  *  who  does  not 
yet  trust  his  own  powers.  There  is  scarcely  any  of 
the  happy  dash  and  raciness  that  distinguish  the 
original,  in  Scott's  version  ;  and  if  Scott  had  under- 
taken this  work  after  a  riper  literary  experience  he 
would  probably  have  recreated  "  Gotz  "  in  English 
— given  us  the  English  equivalent  for  "  Gotz  " — as 
Coleridge  has  given  us  an  English  equivalent  for 
"Wallenstein." 

An  interesting  inquiry  is  suggested  by  this  debut\ 
of  Walter  Scott  with  a  translation  of  a  mediaeval 
play  by  Goethe.  Is  it  not  possible  that  the  read- 
ing of  "  Gotz  "  may  have  aroused  an  enthusiasm  for 
the  Middle  Ages,  and  opened  his  eyes  to  the  lit- 
erary treasures  that  there  lay  unused  ?  If  such  was 
the  case — and  to  me  it  seems  highly  probable — 
we  are  indirectly  indebted  to  Goethe  for  the  Waver- 
ley  Novels,  and  the  romantic  movement  in  English 
literature. 

One  of  the  best  specimens  of  Goethe  in  English 

*  Sir  Walter  was  twenty-eight  years  old  in  1799,  when  he 
published  the  translation  of  "  GOtz." 

f  I  say  debut,  though  being  aware  that  Sir  Walter  pub- 
lished anonymously,  in  1 796,  "  The  Chase,"  and  "  William 
and  Ellen,"  from  the  German  of  Biirger. 


ENGLISH  TRANSLATIONS  OF  GOETHE    II3 

is  Miss  Ellen  Frothingham's  "  Hermann  and  Doro- 
thea," which  preserves  the  stately  German  hex- 
ameters, and  does  not  scruple  to  improve  slip-shod 
lines  which  are  rather  more  frequent  than  they 
ought  to  be.  It  may  seem  little  short  of  sacrilege 
to  improve  upon  Goethe,  but  it  must  be  admitted 
that  "  Hermann  and  Dorothea,"  which  was  written 
with  great  rapidity,  is  full  of  prosodic  eccentricities. 
In  the  first  place,  the  conjunction  und,  frequently 
commencing  the  line,  is  made  to  carry  the  syllabic 
accent  of  the  spondee  or  dactyl,  and  in  a  few  in- 
stances it  does  service  for  the  last  unaccented  sylla- 
ble, as,  for  instance,  iv.,  194  : 

' '  Ach !  da  kommt  mir  so  einsam  vor,  wie  der  Kammer,  der 
Hof  und" 

which  Miss  Frothingham  renders  : 

"All,  so  lonely  they  seem  to  me  then,  the  chamber  and 
court-yard." 

But  one  of  the  worst  lines,  prosodically,  to  be 
found  in  the  book,  is  the  second  of  the  following,  v., 
32,  33 : 

"  Er  ernahret  uns  alle.      Und  Heil  dem  Burger  des  kleinen 
Stadtcheus,  welcher  laudlich  Gewerb  mit  Biirgererwerb 
paart." 

The  art  of  verse,  technically  considered,  consists 
in  the  happy  adaptation  of  sound  to  sense,  in  such- 
wise  that  the  natural  accent,  determined  by  the 
sense,  coincides  with  the  artificial  accent  of  the  me- 


114  GERM  A  N  LIT  ERA  TURE 

tre.  The  words  or  syllablea  weightiest  in  sound 
and  in  meaning  should  therefore  have  the  ictus,  or 
metrical  stress,  while  expletives  and  words  cari-ying 
a  lighter  burden  of  thought,  should  be  made  to  fall, 
as  far  as  possible,  upon  the  unaccented  syllables  of 
the  verse.  No  one  knew  this  better  than  Goethe, 
or  practised  it,  as  a  rule,  with  happier  effect. 

Rarely  has  our  poet  been  subjected  to  worse  mal- 
treatment than  by  the  translators  of  his  ballads  and 
lyrics.  The  late  Professor  Frederick  H.  Hedge, 
who,  whatever  else  he  was,  was  no  poet,  set  a  bad 
example  when  he  murdered  "Der  Erlkonig"  in 
verses  of  which  the  following  may  serve  as  an  ex- 
ample : 

*' '  My  son,  why  hidest  thy  face  so  shy  ?  ' 
'  Seest  thou  not,  father,  the  Erl-king  nigh  ? 
The  Erlen  king,  with  train  and  crown  ? ' 
*  It  is  a  wreath  of  mist,  my  son.' 

*'  Come,  lovely  boy,  come,  go  with  me, 
Such  merry  plays  I'll  play  with  thee  ; 
Many  a  bright  flower  grows  on  the  strand. 
And  my  mother  has  many  a  gay  garment  at  hand." 

I  cannot  detect  a  suspicion  of  the  beautiful  bal- 
lad strain  of  the  original  in  this  dry  and  spiritless 
rendering,  nor  can  I  in  any  of  Professor  Hedge's 
translations  of  Goethe's  verse  find  any  indication 
that  he  appreciated  the  magnitude  of  his  task.  A 
certain  bland  self-assurance  which  does  not  dream 
of  the  subtler  difficulties  to  be  overcome  is  what 
strikes  me  as  a  characteristic  of  this  excellent  man's 


ENGLISH  TRANSLATIONS   OF  GOETHE    Il5 

dealings  with  Goethe.  It  gives  one  positively  a 
cold  shudder  to  read  such  awful  perversion  as  this 
of  "TheKinginThule:" 

"  There  was  a  King  in  Thule, 

Till  death  a  constant  soid  *  (!) ; 
His  queen  she  loted  him  truly, 
And  left  him  a  golden  bowl  I 


"And  now,  while  his  last  breath  breathing, 
He  reckons  his  towns  all  up. 
All  to  his  heir  bequeathing, 
But  not  that  golden  cup. 


"There  stood  the  old  toper — slowly 
Draining  life's  last,  he  stood — 
And  the  cup  he  held  so  holy 
He  hurled  into  the  flood." 

There  are  many  more  specimens  of  earnest  good- 
will, coupled  with  glaring  inability,  in  that  curious 
volume  entitled  "  Select  Minor  Poems  of  Goethe 
and  Schiller  :  with  Notes  by  John  S.  D wight,"  pub- 
lished by  Hilliard,  Gray  &  Co.,  Boston,  1839. 
James  Freeman  Clarke,  "William  H.  Channing, 
George  Bancroft,  S.  M.  Fuller,  N.  L.  Frothiugham, 
Charles  T.  Brooks,  and  G.  W.  Haven  are  the  other 
contributors.  Mr.  Clarke  and  Mr.  Frothingham  are 
the  only  ones  of  this  number  who  succeed,  in  a 
measure,  in  keeping  their  translations  (though  with 
occasional  lapses)  in  the  same  key  as  their  originals. 

*  The  italics  are  mine. — H.  H.  B. 


Il6  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

The  former's  "rendering  of  the  'Oi^phic  Say- 
ings'" and  the  latter's  of  the  "Song  of  the  Fates," 
in  "Iphigenia,"  are  in  every  way  creditable.  They 
have  a  solemn  organ  tone  and  a  sententious  eleva- 
tion of  language  which  no  German  poet  (and  in 
England  only  Milton)  possessed  in  the  same  degree 
as  Goethe. 

Mr.  Clarke  included  nearly  all  his  contributions 
to  this  collection  in  a  later  volume  called  "  Exotics," 
which  bears  his  own  initials  and  those  of  his  daugh- 
ter on  the  title  page.  A  great  deal  of  excellent 
translation  from  many  authors  is  contained  in  this 
little  book,  and  it  would  be  ungracious,  perhaps,  to 
find  fault  where  there  is  so  much  to  praise.  There 
are,  indeed,  difficulties  in  the  art  of  translation 
which  seem  to  lie  in  the  different  tone  and  color  of 
the  language  itself,  and  which  can  be  overcome  by 
nothing  short  of  inspiration.  I  am  very  sure  I 
could  not  render  into  English  that  would  appear 
to  myself  adequate  the  splendidly  sonorous  lines 
in  Goethe's  epilogue  to  Schiller's  "Song  of  the 
Bell : " 

"  Und  hinter  ihm  in  wesenlosem  Scheine 
Lag  was  uns  alle  biindigt,  das  Gemeine." 

And  it  is  therefore  in  no  carping  spirit  that  I  call 
attention  to  Mr.  Clarke's  shortcomings  : 

"  And  far  behind,  in  mists  dissolving  fast, 
That  which  confines  us  all,  the  common,  passed." 

The  female  rhyme  is  here  so  obviously  needed  to 


ENGLISH  TRANSLATIONS   OF  GOETHE    WJ 

preserve  the  key,  that  a  male  rhyme,  with  its  abrupt 
stop,  positively  shocks  the  ear. 

Altogether  the  most  satisfactory  collection  of 
Goethe's  lyrics  which  has  appeared  in  English, 
though  it  leaves  much  to  be  desired,  is  "  The 
Poems  and  Ballads  of  Goethe,"  translated  by  W. 
Edmonstoune  Aytoun  and  Sir  Theodore  Martin. 
This  volume  has  the  distinction  of  containing 
nothing  which  is  really  poor.  The  "Song  of  Mig- 
non,"  upon  which  so  many  infelicitous  poetasters 
have  tried  their  hands,  is  particularly  well  done, 
and  even  the  exquisite  "Heidenroslein,"  which  is 
as  light  as  thistledown  and  as  airily  degage  in  its 
movement,  is  far  from  being  a  failure.  The  last ' 
verse  is,  however,  not  so  good  as  the  rest,  and  its 
third  line — 

**  It  turned  and  stung  him,  but  in  vain  " — 

is  too  choppy,  and  metrically  defective.  A  similar 
criticism  applies  to  the  rendering  of  that  noble 
verse — 

*'  Ueber  alien  Gipfeln 

1st  Rub  ; 
In  alien  Wipfeln 

Spurest  du 
Kaum  einen  Hauch  ; 

Die  Vogelein  scbweigen  im  Walde.  ^ 

Warte  nur,  balde 

Ruhest  du  auch." 

This  is  a  mere  articulate  sigh  breathed  into  the 


1 1 8  GERMAN  LITER  A  TURE 

evening  air,  and  so  elusive  as  to  defy  recapture  in 
alien  sounds  : 

"  Peace  breathes  along  the  shade 

Of  every  hill, 
The  tree-tops  of  the  glade 

Are  hushed  and  still ; 
All  woodland  murmurs  cease, 

The  birds  to  rest  witliin  the  brake  are  gone  ; 
Be  patient,  weary  heart,  anon 

Thou  too  shalt  be  at  peace. " 

The  English  verse  is  here  scarcely  less  poetic 
than  the  German.  It  is  in  the  right  mood,  but  it  is 
not  so  beautifully  spontaneous  and  free  in  its  move- 
ment. 

A  very  interesting  attempt  to  "English"  Goethe's 
"  Westostlicher  Divan  "  was  made  fifteen  years  ago 
by  the  Reverend  John  Weiss,  of  Boston.  As  we  all 
know,  the  lyrical  ease,  the  wild  grace,  and  the 
bubbling  affluence  of  phrase  which  cliaracterize 
Goethe's  early  songs  deserted  him,  in  a  measure,  in 
these  Oriental  poems,  or  at  least  in  the  greater  por- 
tion of  them.  There  is  a  certain  stately,  elderly 
didacticism,  obviously  intended,  in  the  "  Book  of 
Hafis,"  the  "Book  of  Parables,"  and  the  "Book  of 
Reflections."  But  in  the  "  Book  of  Suleika,"  parts 
of  which  were  written  by  Marianne  Willemer,  there 
is  again  the  happy  audacity  of  youth,  and  a  glorious 
fulness  of  feeling  and  utterance  which  recalls  the 
poems  to  Lilli  and  the  lyrics  in  "Faust"  and 
"Wilhelm  Meister."  When  we  consider  these 
"flashes  of  song,"  of  which  I  have  cited  some  of 


ENGLISH  TRANSLATIONS   OF  GOETHE    II9 

the  loveliest  examples,  Wordsworth's  criticism  of 
Goethe's  poetry,  that  "  it  does  not  seem  inevitable 
enough,"  is  so  wide  of  the  mark  as  either  to  appear 
ignorant  or  malevolent.  "Wordsworth  himself  never 
wrote  anything  having  this  quality  of  *'  inevitable- 
ness  "  in  the  same  degree  as  the  "  Heidenroslein," 
"  Ueber  alien  Gipfeln,"  or  the  "  Ai-changels'  Chorus." 
in  "Faust." 

Mr,  John  Weiss  has  admirably  preserved  the  tone 
of  the  didactic  poems  in  the  '•  Westostlicher  Divan," 
but  somehow  his  deftness  of  touch  deserted  him 
when  he  attempted  the  Suleika  songs.  Where  Goe- 
the flows  with  richest  abundance  and  ease,  his  trans- 
lator is  most  choppy,  tortuous,  and  unsatisfactory. 
Professor  John  Stuart  Blackie,  who  in  his  "Wisdom 
of  Goethe  "  made  liberal  extracts  from  the  "  Divan," 
cleai'ed  this  rock  by  not  venturing  on  anything  in 
a  purel}'  lyrical  vein.  It  is  Goethe  the  sage  he 
primarily  concenis  himself  with,  not  Goethe  the 
poet.  His  book  is  a  treasure-house  of  noble,  sen- 
tentious sayings,  all  rendered  with  painstaking  ac- 
curacy— the  garnered  wisdom  of  a  rich  and  noble 
life.  If  it  were  possible  to  bestow  the  results  of  one 
man's  experience  upon  another,  it  would  be  one  of 
the  most  useful  books  ever  compiled.  But  wisdom, 
I  am  inclined  to  believe,  is  never  directly  communi- 
cable. It  strikes  root  only  in  a  kindred  soul  prepared 
for,  if  not  by,  a  kindred  experience. 

Of  the  many  translations  of  "  Faust "  I  regard 
Bayard  Taylor's  as  the  best.  Its  shortcomings 
have  been  ably  stated  both  by  friendly  and  un- 


I20  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

friendly  critics  ;  but  these  are,  to  my  mind,  com- 
pensated for  by  a  poetic  afflatus  which  distin- 
guishes the  book  and  pi'oves  it  to  be  the  work  of  a 
poet.  The  Keverend  Charles  T.  Brooks,  who  pub- 
lished a  vei-y  acceptable  version,  which  by  some  is 
held  to  be  superior  to  Taylor's,  was  far  less  success- 
ful in  reproducing  the  musical  keys  of  the  original, 
and  he  is  far  poorer  in  winged  words,  which  seize 
the  spirit  of  the  German  as  by  inspiration.  I  can- 
not, for  instance,  imagine  a  happier  rendering  of 
the  line  in  the  dedication, 

"  Das  strenge  Herz  es  fiihlt  sicli  mild  und  weich," 

than  Taylor's 

**  And  the  stern  heart  is  tenderly  itnmanned ; " 

which  certainly  accords  better  with  the  elegiac  key 
of  the  poem  than  Brooks' 

"  The  rigid  heart  to  milder  mood  gives  way  ;  " 

or  Miss  Swanwick's 

"  A  tender  mood  my  steadfast  heart  oversways." 

The  same  observation  holds  good  in  regard  to  the 
Easter  choruses,  though  the  admirers  of  Taylor  are 
here  perhaps  obliged  to  concede  a  liberal  use  of  his 
predecessors,  and  particularly  of  Brooks.  Taylor 
followed  in  this  respect  the  example  of  his  master, 
who  declared  (apropos  of  Mephisto's  song,  "Was 
machst  du  mir  vor  Liebchen's  Thtir,"  which  he  had 


ENGLISH  TRANSLATIONS  OF  GOETHE    121 

adapted  from  Shakspere)  that  he  felt  at  liberty  to 
use  all  that  carae  in  his  way,  provided  he  could  im- 
prove upon  it.  And  who  will  question  that,  consid- 
ered as  poetry,  Taylor's  version  is  here  superior  to 
that  of  Brooks  ?  Take,  for  instance,  the  "  Chorus  of 
the  Disciples,"  which  is  the  most  difficult,  and  so 
may  serve  as  a  test  of  the  comparative  merits  of  the 
translatoi's.  How  ecstatic  is  the  swift  dactylic  move- 
ment of  Taylor's  rendering ! 

"  Has  He,  victoriously, 
Burst  from  the  vaulted 
Grave,  and  ail-gloriously 
Now  sits  exalted  ? 
Is  He  in  glow  of  birth 
Rapture  creative  near  ? 
Ah  !  to  the  woe  of  earth 
Still  are  we  native  here  I 
We,  His  aspiring 
Followers,  Him  we  miss  ; 
Weeping,  desiring. 
Master,  Thy  Bliss  !  " 

Excepting  the  last  four  lines,  which  fall  a  trifle 
below  the  key,  I  regard  this  as  one  of  the  greatest 
feats  of  translation  in  the  English  language.  The 
alteraately  rhyming  lines, 

"  1st  or  in  Werdelnst 
Schaffender  Freude  nah  ? 
Ach  !  an  der  Erde  Brust 
Sind  wir  zum  Leide  da," 

are  rendered  with  a  poetic  felicity  and  vigor  which 
throw  Brooks  far  into  the  shade.     Particularly  the 


122  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

rendering  of  the  almost  untranslatable  word  Werde- 
lust  by  "  glow  of  birth,"  and  the  producing  of  a 
dactylic  rhyme,  accurate  both  as  to  sense  and  sound, 
in  "  woe  of  earth,"  can  scarcely  fail  to  challenge  the 
admiration  of  all  who  know  the  difficulties  which 
are  here  so  triumphantly  overcome.  Here  is  the 
version  of  Brooks,  and  I  beg  the  unprejudiced 
reader,  with  an  ear  for  rhythmical  effects,  to  pro- 
nounce if  it  approaches  so  near  to  the  subhmity  of 
the  original : 

"  Risen  victorious  ? 

Sits  He,  God's  Holy  One, 
High  tliroued  and  glorious  ? 
He,  in  tins  blest  new  birth 
Rapture  creative  knows  ; 
Ah  !  on  the  breast  of  earth 
Taste  we  still  nature's  woes. 
Left  here  to  languish, 
Lone  iu  a  world  like  this, 
Fills  us  with  anguish, 
Master,  Thy  bliss." 

Miss  Swanwick's  version  of  this  is  almost  on  the 
level  of  prose,  and  makes  scarcely  the  faintest  at- 
tempt to  sound  the  trumpet-note  of  triumph  which 
rings  in  the  first  four  lines,  and  which  Taylor  has 
reproduced  so  finely  : 

♦'  He  whom  we  mourned  as  dead, 
Living  and  glorious, 
From  the  dark  grave  hath  fled, 
O'er  death  victorious. 
Almost  creative  bliss 


ENGLISH  TRANSLATIONS  OF  GOETHE    1 23 

Waits  on  His  growing  powers. 
Ah  !  Him  on  eartli  we  miss  ; 
Sorrow  and  grief  are  ours. 
Yearniug  He  left  His  own 
'Mid  sore  annoy. 
All !  we  must  needs  bemoan, 
Master,  Thy  joy  !  " 

I  believe  I  am  acquainted  with  all  translations 
of  "Faust"  into  English,  and  I  have,  after  much 
study,  come  to  the  conclusion  that  Taylor's  unites 
more  excellences  than  any  of  tbe  others.  If  I 
were  to  state  its  claim  to  superiority  in  one  word, 
I  should  say  that,  generally  speaking,  it  is  poetry, 
while  all  the  others  are  metrical  prose,  rising 
now  and  then  into  tbe  regions  consecrated  to 
the  tuneful  Nine.  It  is  not  by  any  means  a  final 
and  fully  satisfactory  translation,  making  all  others, 
superfluous ;  but  it  gives  everywhere  evidence  of 
having  been  written  by  a  man  of  finer  poetic  suscep- 
tibility and  a  higher  poetic  gift  than  any  of  his  com- 
petitors. 

Where  a  dozen  translators  have  grappled  earnestly 
with  a  poet's  text,  coincidences  of  expression  are  in- 
evitable. The  worst  solecisms  are  frequently  due  to 
the  effort  to  escape  resemblance  to  a  predecessor. 
There  is  but  one  of  Taylor's  predecessors  who  is  on 
nearly  as  high  a  level  of  excellence,  and  who  in  single 
instances  perhaps  surpasses  him  ;  and  this  is  not 
Mr.  Brooks,  but  Sir  Theodore  Martin.  Here  is  the 
Spinning  Song,  for  instance,  the  first  verse  of  which 
is  almost  identical  in  both  versions. 


124  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Sir  Theodore  Martin  renders  it : 

"  My  peace  is  gone, 
My  heart  is  sore, 
'Tis  gone  forever 
And  evermore." 

Taylor's  translation  runs  as  follows  : 

"  My  peace  is  gone, 
My  heart  is  sore, 
I  never  shall  find  it, 
Ah !  nevermore. 

With  the  exception  of  the  seventh  verse  which  is 
identical  in  both,  there  are  no  further  resemblances 
except  such  aa  are  unavoidable.  The  Easter  Choruses 
of  Sir  Theodore  Martin  are  distinctly  inferior  to 
Taylor's.  In  fact  Taylor  is  always  best  where  he 
has  the  greatest  difficulties  to  contend  with,  and 
where  no  competitor  can  be  of  use  to  him.  It  may 
be  admitted,  without  detracting  from  the  value  of 
his  work,  as  a  whole,  that  in  some  instances  he  falls 
short  of  the  sublimity  of  his  text,  as  in  the  prayer : 

"  Oh  neige, 
Du  Schmevzensrelche ;  " 

to  which  he  has  hardly  done  justice  in  the  lines  : 

"Incline,  oh  maiden. 
Thou  sorrow-laden,"  etc. ; 

which  in  passionate  intensity  does  not  approach  the 
German. 


ENGLISH  TRANSLATIONS   OF  GOETHE    12$ 

I  cannot  agree  tvith  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold,  who  pro- 
nounces Hay  ward's  translation  of  "  Faust  "  tlie  best 
because  it  is  "the  most  straightforward."  To  the 
lover  of  "  Faust "  who  seeks  something  more  than  the 
bald  meaning,  Hayward's  version  is  exasperating. 
His  laborious  and  cumbersome  prose  is  not  only  pro- 
saic but  prosy.  It  is,  linguistically,  on  a  dead  level  of 
commonplace.  Who,  not  knowing  the  original,  but 
having  read  Hayward's  translation,  would  ever  dream 
that  this  was  one  of  the  great  masterpieces  of  the 
world's  literature  ?  I  am  unable  to  find  a  single 
scene  in  that  barren  desert  of  prose  which  preserves 
the  tone  and  color  of  the  original.  You  may  say 
that  this  cannot  be  done  in  prose,  which  amounts  to 
saying  that  no  prose  translation,  however  good,  can 
compare  with  a  good  metrical  one — quod  erat  demon'- 
strandum. 

An  American  translation  of  "  Faust "  by  Frank 
Claudy,  of  Washington,  appears  to  be  very  little 
known.  It  is  faithful,  frequently  felicitous,  but 
follows  Taylor  too  closel}',  in  all  the  lyrical  pas- 
sages, to  claim  the  merit  of  independence.  "  The 
Spinning  Song  "  of  Mr.  Claudy  differs  from  Taylor's 
only  in  a  few  unimportant  words.  His  "Easter 
Choruses"  show  much  less  dependence,  and  are, 
indeed,  remarkably  good ;  and  the  same  may  be 
said  of  the  "  Chant  of  the  Archangels." 

Among  the  many  who  tried  their  hand  on  the 
isolated  scenes  of  "Faust,"  no  one  has  produced 
metrical  eflfects  of  more  exquisite  quality  than  Percy 
Bysshe  Shelley.     His  "Chant  of  the  Archangels" 


126  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

contains  inspired  lines  such  as  "  the  world's  un- 
withered  countenance,"  and  is  of  a  sustained  lofti- 
ness which  makes  one  desire  that  he  had  given  us 
more. 

Bafhakl.   "  The  sun  makes  music  as  of  old 

Amid  the  rival  spheres  of  Heaven, 
On  its  predestined  circle  rolled 
With  thunder  speed  :  the  Angels  even 
Draw  strength  from  gazing  on  its  glance, 
Though  none  its  meaning  fathom  may ; 
The  world's  unwithered  countenance 
Is  bright  as  at  creation's  day." 

In  the  Walpurgis  Night  scene  Shelley  has  a  line 
which  is  simply  delicious  in  its  wild,  witch-like 
wantonness : 

"  And  the  rugged  crags,  ho,  ho  ! 
How  they  snort  and  how  they  blow." 

This  catches  inimitably  the  spirit  of  the  lines : 

"  Und  die  langen  Felsennasen 
Wie  sie  schnarchen,  wie  sie  blasen." 

The  interjections  "  ho,  ho,"  are  not  in  the  text, 
but  after  Shelley  supplied  them  you  wish  that  they 
had  been  there.  This  is  an  instance  of  what  I 
have  called  re-creation.  Shelley  felt  the  scene  so 
keenly,  and  possessed  moreover  such  magnificent 
resources  of  language,  that  inspired,  woudrously  fe- 
licitous words  sprang  into  their  places  and  built  up 
the  scene  in  English  with  all  the  noble  freedom  and 
spontaneity  of  the  original 


ENGLISH  TRANSLATIONS  OF  GOETHE    12/ 

Among  the  several  translations  of  the  second  part 
of  "  Faust,"  I  set  much  store  by  that  of  John  An- 
ster,  LL.D.,  which  is  accurate,  dignified,  and  well  in 
tune  with  the  Olympian  mood  of  the  old  Goethe.  In 
the  fifth  act,  with  its  swift  dactylic  measures  in  the 
various  choruses  of  angels,  Mr.  Anster  falls  behind 
both  Sir  Theodore  Martin  and  Bayard  Taylor.  The 
English  language  is  so  poor  in  dactylic  rhymes,  that 
it  woiild  seem  quite  excusable,  as  Mr.  Anster  has 
done,  to  abandon  all  pretence  to  reproduce  the  me- 
tres. Take  as  a  mere  instance  of  the  comparative 
mastery  of  Anster,  Martin,  and  Taylor,  the  beautiful 
Chorus  Mysticus  with  which  the  second  part  closes : 

*'  Alles  Vergangliche 
1st  nur  eiu  Gleiclmiss  ; 
Das  Unzuliingliche 
Hier  wird's  Ereigniss  ; 
Das  Unbeschreibliche, 
Hier  ist  es  gethaii ; 
Das  Ewig-Weibliche 
Zieht  uns  hinan." 

Mr.  Anster's  version  is  as  follows : 

"  All  we  see  before  us  passing 
Sign  and  symbol  is  alone  ; 
Here,  what  thought  can  never  reach  to 
Is  by  semblances  made  known  ; 
What  man's  word  may  never  utter, 
Done  in  act — in  symbol  shown. 
Love,  whose  perfect  type  is  Woman, 
The  divine  and  human  blending, 
Love  forever  and  forever 
Wins  us  onwai-d,  still  ascending." 


128  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

This  is  a  paraphrase  rather  than  a  translation, 
neither  literal  nor  particularly  felicitous.  Sir  Theo- 
dore Martin  has  wrestled  more  successfully  with  the 
metrical  problem. 

"  All  in  earth's  fleeting  state 
As  symbol  is  still  meant ; 
Here  tlie  inadequate 
Grows  to  fulfilment. 
Here  is  wrought  the  inscrutable 
To  silence  that  awes  us  ; 
Love  eternal,  immutable, 
On,  ever  on,  draws  us." 

'  Das  Ewig-Weibliche  "  is  here  inadequately  ren- 
dered by  "  love  eternal,  immutable,"  and  the  apolo- 
getic foot-note  scarcely  helps  it.  Bayard  Taylor 
(whose  second  part  of  "  Faust "  was  published  before 
Sir  Theodore's)  has  the  splendid  lyrical  impulse  of 
the  original  which  hurries  us  on  from  line  to  line, 
and  unites  the  verse  into  a  noble  whole : 

*•  All  things  transitory 
But  as  symbols  are  sent : 
Earth's  insufficiency 
Here  grows  to  event. 
The  indescribable. 
Here  it  is  done  : 
The  Woman-Soul  draweth  us 
Upward  and  on  1" 


V. 

SERMONS    FROM    GOETHE 
I. 

The  Peoblem  op  Happiness 

THE  futility  of  faith,  the  futility  of  effort,  the 
futility  of  life  itself  is  being  eloquently 
preached  by  a  certain  class  of  modern  philosophers. 
It  is  sui-prising  that  so  much  energy  should  be  ex- 
pended to  prove  its  own  uselessness.  It  reminds 
one  of  Voltaire's  epigram,  a  propos  of  Rousseau's 
"  Discourses,"  that  never  had  a  man  expended  so 
much  intellect  to  prove  himself  a  brute.  But  this 
gospel  of  pessimism,  which  begins  and  ends  in 
negation,  can  never  affect  the  large  mass  of  human- 
ity. There  is  an  indestructible  vitality  in  the  race 
which  rejoices  in  action  and  shoots  off  with  a  rank 
vigor  in  manifold  aims  and  activities.  It  is  like  the 
sap  that  mounts  in  the  tree  with  a  gloiious  creative 
ferment,  and  bui'sts  into  leaf  and  blossom  and  fruit. 
Happiness,  which  to  the  great  herd  is  but  the  grati- 
fication of  the  immediate  desire,  seems  alwaj's  with- 
in reach  and  is  always  eagerly  pursued.  But  though 
a  hundred  times  the  Juno  of  our  pursuit  turn  into  a 


I30  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

damp  and  clammy  cloud  in  our  embrace,  we  do  not 
willingly  draw  the  conclusion  that  she  is  not  worth 
pursuing.  We  start  once  more  and  have  the  same 
experience  over  again,  and  the  great  majority  of  us 
go  to  our  graves  more  or  less  disillusionized,  but 
yet  cherishing  a  vague  notion  that,  if  we  had  one 
more  trial,  we  might  gain  the  happiness  which  has 
so  far  eluded  us.  But  the  hope  is  vain  ;  first,  be- 
cause happiness  is  no  tangible  and  attainable  thing, 
which  can  be  gained  and  kept  under  lock  and  key  ; 
and  secondly,  because  it  is  in  its  very  nature  to 
elude  him  who  pursues  it. 

The  first  of  these  propositions  is  too  self-evident  to 
need  explanation.  But  the  second,  though  it  ought 
to  be  equally  self-evident,  contains  subtleties  enough 
to  furnish  a  theme  for  discussion.  This  postulate 
that  happiness  is  never  caught  by  pursuit,  is  the 
central  doctrine  of  the  Second  Part  of  Goethe's 
"  Faust,"  and,  in  a  scarcely  less  conspicuous  degree, 
of  "  "Wilhelm  Meister."  Browning  deals  with  it,  or 
rather  fumbles  gropingly  about  it  in  "  Paracelsus  ;" 
and  George  Eliot  illustrates  it  with  great  strength 
and  lucidity  in  "  Daniel  Deronda,"  and  incidentally 
in  "Komola,"  "  Middlemarch,"  and  "Scenes  from 
Clerical  Life."  All  great  thinkers  have  concerned 
themselves  more  or  less  with  it ;  but  not  all  have 
arrived  at  Goethe's  conclusion,  which,  however,  both 
religion  and  experience  tend  to  enforce.  In  one 
sense  it  is  but  an  amplification  and  philosophical 
variation  of  Christ's  teaching  of  self-sacrifice  and 
charity,  though  without  reference  to  any  heavenly 


SERMONS  FROM  GOETHE  13I 

reward.  In  another  sense  it  is  an  anticipation  of 
Herbert  Spencer's  doctrine  of  altruism,  and  a  dem- 
onstration of  the  futility  of  the  old  eudemonistic 
philosophies. 

Let  us  consider  the  pi*oblem  in  some  of  its  im- 
portant bearings.  "Wilhelm  Meister  starts  out  in 
the  world,  as  every  young  man  is  apt  to  do,  as  a 
frank  eudemonist ;  i.e.,  as  one  bent  upon  achieving 
his  own  happiness.  He  blunders  wofully,  sacrifices 
with  unthinking  selfishness  other  lives  to  his  own 
notions  of  felicity,  and  reaps  the  consequences  of 
his  acts.  Pleasure  -  seeking,  so  far  from  bringing 
happiness,  spins  him  into  a  web  of  manifold  diffi- 
culties. The  conviction,  enforced  by  experience, 
gi'ows  upon  him  that  not  in  seeking  the  gratification 
of  every  lawless  impulse,  but  in  self-development,  is 
happiness  to  be  found.  He  then  sets  out  in  quest 
of  culture  in  the  most  comprehensive  sense,  not 
only  cultivation  of  the  mind,  by  reading  and  inter- 
course with  intellectual  men  and  women,  but  also 
cultivation  of  manners,  and  the  acquisition  of  that 
noble  presence  which  was  to  be  an  outward  expres- 
sion of  a  manly  and  self-reliant  character.  This  sec- 
ond quest  like  the  first  ends,  however,  in  temporary 
failure.  It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  this  new  eude- 
monism  (for  it  is  nothing  else)  is  nobler  than  the 
old  ;  but  it  is  far  from  solving  the  problem.  Wil- 
helm is  apparently  not  much  happier  in  the  pursuit 
of  culture  than  he  was  in  the  pursuit  of  pleasure. 
He  feels  himself  at  a  disadvantage  as  a  buurgeois, 
among  the  rich  and  magnificent  aristocrats  with 


1 3  2  GERMAN  LITER  A  TURE 

whem  he  associates,  and  his  self-esteem  frequently 
suffers.  By  a  slow  growth,  induced  by  the  culture 
which  he  has  acquired,  his  tastes  change  ;  he  be- 
comes interested  in  his  fellow-men  and  their  con- 
cerns ;  and  gradually  the  attainment  of  happiness 
for  himself  becomes  subordinated  to  his  work  for 
the  welfare  of  his  kind.  He  studies  medicine,  and 
in  the  practical  duties  of  his  profession,  helping  the 
weak  and  alleviating  suffering,  he  attains  a  degree 
of  contentment  and  well-being  which  has  hitherto 
been  unknown  to  him.  In  other  words,  when  he 
has  abandoned  the  direct  pursuit  of  happiness,  hap- 
piness comes  to  him. 

In  "  Faust "  the  same  doctrine  is  still  more 
forcibly  taught.  Faust,  having  turned  his  back 
upon  the  pursuit  of  knowledge  (because  it  seems 
futile  and  joyless),  agreCvS  with  Mephistopheles  that, 
when  he  shall  by  the  Devil's  aid  have  reached  the 
moment  of  absolute  bliss,  to  which  he  would  say : 
"  Stay,  thou  art  fair,"  his  soul  shall,  for  all  eternity, 
belong  to  Mephistopheles.  The  tempter  puts  all 
sorts  of  sensual  pleasures  in  his  way,  but  they  fail 
to  satisfy.  Sin  brings  its  retribution — remorse  and 
misery  untold.  Then  comes,  in  the  beginning  of 
the  Second  Part,  Faust's  reawakening  to  the  ac- 
tivities of  life  ;  his  entrance  upon  the  arena  of 
practical  life  as  a  statesman  and  the  gradual  unfold- 
ing of  his  intellectual  powers,  sj'mbolized  by  the 
flight  to  Greece  and  his  discourse  with  the  phan- 
toms of  Hellenic  and  Egyptian  mythology  in  the 
classical  Walpurgis  night.     He  passes  through  the 


SERMONS  FROM  GOETHE  1 33 

same  stages  of  development  as  Wilhelm  Meister, 
grows  gradually  from  eudemonism  into  altruism, 
and  finds  happiness  when  he  has  entirely  abandoned 
the  pursuit  of  it.  The  moment  to  which  he  would 
say  :  "  Stay,  thou  art  fair,"  does  not  come  to  him  by 
the  agency  of  Mephistopheles,  but  through  an  ex- 
periment in  draining  a  large  tract  of  land,  hither- 
to sterile,  breathing  miasma,  and  preparing  it  for 
the  habitation  of  generations  yet  unborn.  Critics, 
trained  in  the  Romantic  traditions,  have  never  wea- 
ried of  ridiculing  this  device,  regarding  it  as  a  most 
trivial  and  prosaic  denouement  But  this  proves 
only  how  fai*  Goethe  was  in  advance  of  his  age.  We 
can  scarcely  conceive  of  a  nobler  kind  of  happiness 
than  that  of  Faust,  when  blind  and  old,  he  stands 
on  his  tower,  seeing  in  spirit  the  blessings  which 
his  labors  will  confer  upon  millions  of  his  fellow- 
men.  This  is  the  moment  of  absolute  delight. 
And,  as  soon  as  he  has  pronounced  the  fatal  words, 
"  Stay,  thou  art  fair,"  he  falls  back  dead  ;  not, 
however,  to  be  delivered  up  to  Mephistopheles,  but 
to  be  borne  upward  in  triumph  by  the  heavenly 
hosts. 

George  Eliot's  treatment  of  this  problem  is  very 
different  from  Goethe's,  but  her  solution  is  essen- 
tially the  same.  What  she  primarily  tjoncerns  her- 
self with  is  man's  attitude  toward  the  moral  law  as 
the  determining  factor  of  his  fate.  The  individual 
is  organically  coherent  with  his  environment,  by 
which  his  duties  are  defined,  and  whatever  happi- 
ness is  to  be  found  on  eai'th  results  from  the  fulfil- 


134  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

ment  of  these  duties.  The  attempt  to  escape — to 
take  a  short  cut  to  happiness — always  avenges  itself 
and  brings  misery.  If  happiness  is  not  found  in  sub- 
mission to  duty  (and  sometimes  it  may  not  be)  far 
less  is  it  to  be  found  in  rebellion  against  it.  George 
Eliot's  works  supply  abundant  situations  illustrat- 
ing these  propositions.  Take,  for  instance,  the  case 
of  Romola.  She  has  made  a  mistake  in  marrying 
Tito  Melema.  Her  imperfect  knowledge  of  life 
had  made  her  an  easy  prey  to  the  superficial  charms 
of  the  handsome  and  slippery  Greek.  Her  love  is 
short-lived ;  soon  she  learns  to  despise,  and  at  last 
to  hate  and  loathe,  her  husband.  Her  strong  and 
pure  nature  revolts  against  the  degrading  union 
with  this  base  character,  and  she  flees,  not  to  pleas- 
ure, but  to  renunciation  !  When  in  her  indignation 
at  Tito's  un worthiness,  she  believes  herself  justified 
in  breaking  the  marriage  bond,  Duty  meets  her 
with  its  categorical  demand  in  the  person  of  Savo- 
narola. He  commands  her  to  return.  Tito's  un- 
worthiness  has  not  absolved  her  from  her  obligation 
as  his  wife.  Take  up  thy  cross  and  bear  it ;  do  not 
weakly  throw  it  away.  In  the  fulfilment  of  a  bur- 
densome duty  (even  though  it  is  painful  and  difficult) 
there  is  blessing.  The  attempt  to  escape  from  the 
consequences  of  one's  own  actions  is  Hke  trying  to 
run  away  from  one's  shadow. 

This  is  the  substance  of  Savonarola's  message, 
and  it  is  the  message  that  George  Eliot  is  constantly 
repeating.  One  would  suppose,  then,  that  Romola, 
after  her  return  to  her  husband,  would  realize  this 


SERMONS  FROM  GOETHE  1 35 

blessedness  to  its  full  extent.  But  liere  again  the 
author's  beautiful  fidelity  to  the  facts  of  existence 
restrains  her.  Romola  experiences  no  ecstatic 
happiness,  no  keen  sense  of  beatitude.  These  ex- 
alted states  are  rare  in  our  mortal  life.  But  she 
gains  in  time  a  wise  and  gentle  resignation,  a  half- 
soiTowful  satisfaction  in  well  -  doing,  and  a  noble 
elevation  of  character  which  make  her  a  blessing  to 
her  kind. 

To  Gwendolen,  in  "Daniel  Deronda,"  the  same 
message  is  delivered  under  similar  circumstances. 
She,  too,  has  made  an  unhappy  marriage,  though 
from  far  less  worthy  motives.  She  has  married 
Grandcourt  with  her  eyes  open,  well  knowing  what 
he  is.  Her  womanhood  is  daily  degraded  by  its 
bondage  to  this  coarse  and  brutal  character.  Duty 
encounters  her  in  the  person  of  Daniel  Deronda. 
She  yeaiiis  passionately  to  escape  from  the  position 
which  her  own  vulgar  ambition  and  the  worldliness 
of  her  friends  have  prepared  for  her.  She  does  at 
last  escape  by  an  act  which,  before  the  tribunal  of  a 
stern  conscience,  is  next  door  to  murder.  Now, 
then,  the  fairyland  of  freedom  will  open  its  golden 
portals  to  receive  her !  No  ;  far  from  it.  Her  ex- 
pectation is  disappointed,  Daniel  Deronda,  for 
whose  approval  she  hungers,  pronounces  again  the 
inexorable  law — there  is  no  happiness  to  be  found  in 
escape  from  duty.  The  world  is  so  constituted,  and 
we  are  ourselves  so  constituted,  that  we  visit  retribu- 
tion upon  ourselves  for  our  own  sins.  Society  joins 
in  enforcing  the  moral  law  by  which  it  can  alone 


136  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

exist ;  and  inflicts  its  punishment  upon  us  through 
our  most  sensitive  fibres.  Misery — a  long,  dreary 
life  of  expiation,  is  the  penalty  Gwendolen  pays  for 
her  attempt  to  take  the  law  into  her  own  hands. 

Closely  akin  to  the  philosophy  of  George  EHot,  as 
bearing  upon  this  subject,  is  the  spirit  which  per- 
vades the  poetry  of  Tennyson.  He,  too,  preaches 
submission  to  duty  and  the  futility  of  rebellion.  He 
declares  his  faith  in  the  reign  of  law,  and  finds  the 
evidence  of  man's  progress  in  his  gradual  self-eon- 
quest,  and  in  the  subordination  of  passion  to  duty. 
In  this  Avay  he  rises  to  loftier  heights  and  attains  the 
only  happiness  attainable  on  earth,  which  is  indeed 
not  rapture,  but  a  tempered  felicity,  a  grave  self- 
respect  and  contentment.  I  have  not  the  space  to 
quote  ;  but  I  believe  this  to  be  a  fairly  coiTect 
summary  of  Tennyson's  moral  teaching.  It  is  not 
the  attitude  one  would  naturally  expect  of  a  poet ; 
for  poets  are  rarely  confoi'mists ;  they  are  sup- 
posed to  have  a  streak  of  defiance  in  their  blood 
and  a  native  sympathy  with  revolt.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  Wordsworth  (and  in  a  lesser  degree, 
South ey),  I  know  no  Eaglish  poet  orf  eminence  who 
has  espoused  so  emphatically  the  cause  of  duty 
against  that  of  passion.  The  pervading  note  in 
Shelley,  for  instance,  is  a  breatliless  and  utterly 
lawless  aspiration  ;  a  millennial  disregard  of  all  the 
hampering  conditions  to  which  human  existence  is 
subject ;  a  Titanic  impatience  overleaping  all  bar- 
riers ;  a  wild,  lyrical  yearning  for  the  unattainable. 
A  ravenous  hunger  for  happiness  is  constantly  burn- 


SERMONS  FROM  GOETHE  1 3/ 

ing  in  Lis  soul ;  and  with  uncontrolled  individualism 
he  takes  what  he  conceives  to  be  the  shortest  cut  to 
the  goal  of  his  desires.  But,  in  every  instance,  how 
wofuUy  the  result  disappoints  him !  No  more  im- 
pressive sermon  has  ever  been  preached  on  this  text 
than  the  recently  published  "Life  and  Letters  of 
Percy  Bysshe  Shelley,"  by  Professor  Edward  Dow- 
den.  That  society  has  any  claim  upon  the  individual 
and  may  justly  demand  a  certain  degree  of  respect 
for  its  convictions  and  usages,  seems  never  to  have 
occurred  to  Shelley  ;  and  that  the  social  code  of 
morals,  no  matter  how  oppressive  in  individual 
cases,  has,  and  must  always  have,  a  certain  rational- 
ity, w^as  an  idea  which  he  utterly  scouted.  Sensi- 
tive he  was,  in  the  extreme.  Life  played  with  'a 
rough  bow  upon  his  quivering  nerves ;  and  his 
suffering  was  pitiful,  but  not  undeserved. 

Robert  Browning,  who  is  constantly  approaching 
this  problem,  is  drawn  by  his  sympathies  in  the 
direction  of  Shelley  rather  than  that  of  Tennyson. 
He  preaches  frankly  the  rights  of  passion  ;  and 
derides  in  his  heroes  all  pusillanimous  regard  for 
duty.  Take,  for  instance  this,  in  "The  Statue  and 
the  Bust,"  whei'e  the  question  is  one  of  surrender 
to  passion  or  resistance  : 

"I  hear  your  reproach  :  ' But  dehiy  was  hest ; 

For  their  end  was  a  crime.'     Oh,  a  crime  will  do, 
As  well.  I  reply,  to  serve  for  a  test 

As  virtue  golden  through  and  through, 
Sufficient  to  vindicate  itself 
And  prove  its  worth  at  a  moment's  view." 


138  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

In  twenty  passages  at  least,  which  I  could  quote, 
if  not  in  a  hundred,  h^  preaches  the  same  doctrine 
in  a  rich  and  varied  vocabulary  which,  if  not  con- 
vincing, is  marvellously  subtle  and  alluring  to  every 
ardent  eudemonist  who  may  be  foolish  enough  to 
put  it  into  practice.  What  Browning  contends  is 
that  passion  is  the  expression  of  the  personality  at 
its  flood-tide  ;  it  is  the  man's  or  the  woman's  power 
at  its  climax  ;  it  is  the  rich  blossoming  of  the  soul ; 
and  the  failure  to  obey  its  prompting  is  a  sacrilege, 
a  wasting  of  golden  moments  which  will  never 
return.  It  is  in  these  moments  that  life  reaches 
out  for  its  fulfilment ;  and  dying  without  having 
tasted  their  sweetness  is  death,  indeed  ;  is  sterility 
and  failure.  It  is  as  if  the  plant  should  die  without 
having  blossomed.  The  moral  objections  to  this 
doctrine  are  known  to  Browning  in  all  their  aspects  ; 
but  he  chooses  never  to  emphasize  them.  It  is  a 
question  whether  he  would  recommend  his  philoso- 
phy to  anyone  as  a  guide  of  action.  It  has  its 
justification  in  verse,  no  doubt ;  and  throws  light 
into  recesses  of  our  nature  which,  but  for  this  poet, 
might  not  be  so  well  illuminated.  But  let  anyone 
who  reads  Browning  with  a  leaning  toward  his 
views  of  life,  read  Goethe  and  George  Eliot  as  an 
antidote ;  for  it  is  in  the  latter  that  the  deepest  in- 
sight and  the  highest  practical  wisdom  have  found 
expression.  Quite  apart  from  the  fact  that  society 
must,  for  its  own  protection,  punish  non-conformity 
in  morals,  the  pursuer  of  pleasure,  for  its  own  sake, 
or  his  own  sake,  will  always  have  the  experience  of 


SERMONS  FROM  GOETHE  1 39 

Ixion — be  will  embrace  a  cloud.  Even  from  a 
purely  pbilosophical  point  of  view  the  words  of 
Christ  are  true :  "  He  that  seeketb  his  life  shall  lose 
it ;  and  he  that  loseth  his  life,  for  my  sake,  shall 
find  it." 

There  is  no  direct  evidence  that  George  EUot  was 
indebted  to  Goethe  for  the  moral  which  she  teaches 
in  her  novels.  The  paper  in  her  volume  of  essays 
called  "  Three  Months  in  Weimar  "  does  not  indi- 
cate any  extensive  familiarity  with  German  litera- 
ture. In  her  "  Life  "  by  Ci'oss  I  am  able  to  find 
but  two  references  to  Goethe,  one  quoting  an  opin- 
ion concerning  Spinoza,  and  the  other  recording  the 
reading  of  the  First  Part  of  "Faust"  in  the  original : 
neither  of  these  passages  gives  any  hint  that  she 
had  penetrated  beneath  the  surface.  "Whether  Mr, 
Lewes,  who  wrote  the  well-known  "Life  of  Goe- 
the," may  have  called  her  attention  to  the  German 
poet's  doctrine  of  happiness  is  a  question  which  is 
difficult  to  decide.  It  lies,  perhaps,  nearer  to  sup- 
pose that  she  may  have  been  stimulated  by  Herbert 
Spencer's  doctrine  of  altruism,  which  is  but  a  modi- 
fication of  the  lesson  taught  in  "  Faust "  and  "  Wil- 
helm  Meister." 

I  know  that  to  English  readers  this  may  appear 
a  sui-prising  statement ;  for  a  man  who  was  bent 
above  all  things  upon  self-culture — who  regarded  all 
relations  of  life  as  tributary  to  his  own  development 
— could  scarcely  be,  in  the  ordinary  acceptation  of 
the  teiTD,  an  altruist.  But  Goethe  is  not  the  only 
man  who  has  taught  a  philosophy  which  he  was  not 


140  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

able  to  practise.  It  is  quite  possible  for  a  man  to 
be  intellectually  in  advance  of  bis  moral  develop- 
ment— to  see  with  bis  intellect  what  he  may  not 
have  the  power  to  illustrate  in  his  conduct.  In 
other  words,  Goethe  had  reached  the  moral  stage  of 
Faust  in  the  Third,  or  possibly  the  Fourth  Act  of 
the  Second  Part  of  the  drama ;  but  he  had  not  yet 
entered  upon  the  Fifth  and  final  Act. 


n. 

The  Victims  op  Progress. 

There  is  a  scene  in  the  Second  Part  of  Goethe's 
"  Faust "  Avhich  furnishes  me  with  a  text  for  what 
may  prove  a  tale  or  a  sermon  or  a  social  essay.  I 
have  known  so  many  of  the  victims  of  progress,  and 
I  have,  on  the  whole,  such  a  kindly  feeling  for  the 
majority  of  them,  that  I  cannot  find  it  in  my  heart 
to  tell  them,  in  'propria  persona,  of  how  small  ac- 
count they  are  in  the  cosmic  economy.  By  shield- 
ing myself  behind  the  mighty  back  of  Goethe  I 
shall  manage  to  make  him  say  what  I  wish  to  say, 
and  yet  avoid  the  brutal  frankness  of  a  personal 
critic. 

On  the  top  of  a  hill  in  Faust's  domain  lived  an 
aged  and  highly  respectable  couple,  named  Phile- 
mon and  Baucis.  It  happened  that  the  site  upon 
which  their  cottage  and  the  adjoining  chapel  were 
situated  was  the  only  eminence  in  the  kingdom 
fit  for   an    astronomical  observatory ;    and  Faust, 


SERMONS  FROM  GOETHE  141 

being  anxious  to  found  such  an  institution,  offered 
to  buy  the  old  people's  property  for  more  than  it 
was  worth.  They,  however,  refused  to  part  with  it, 
and  attributed  to  Faust  all  sorts  of  sinister  motives 
for  wishing  to  deprive  them  of  what  was  rightfully 
theirs.  The  latter,  fired  with  zeal  for  the  welfare  of 
society  at  large,  sent  out  "  three  strong  men  "  (one 
of  whom  proved  to  be  Mephistopheles  in  disguise) 
to  eject  Philemon  and  Baucis  from  their  cottage, 
and  to  move  them,  if  need  be,  by  force,  to  a  new 
and  more  attractive  home  which  he  had  prepared 
for  them.  The  three  strong  men  exceeded  their  in- 
structions, burned  the  cottage  and  the  chapel,  and 
the  old  people  died  of  fright. 

This  is  the  story  :  and  it  is  needless  to  say  that  it 
has  puzzled  the  commentators  exceedingly.  It 
would  be  comparatively  plain  sailing,  if  it  were  not 
for  the  fact  that  it  is  distinctly  said  that  Faust  was 
justified  in  acting  as  he  did.  When,  in  the  next 
scene,  the  Gray  Sisters — Care,  Want,  Necessity,  and 
Guilt — knock  at  his  door,  Guilt  is  excluded.  The 
very  cheap  explanation  that  Goethe  meant  to  teach, 
man's  liability  to  error,  however  wise  he  became, 
accordingly  does  not  apply ;  for  if  Faust's  act  was 
an  error,  he  would  surely  not  be  free  from  guilt. 
No ;  there  is  no  escape  from  the  conclusion  that  the 
author  meant  to  declare  that  the  man  who,  in  his 
efforts  to  benefit  the  race,  unavoidably  injures  indi- 
viduals, is  not  to  be  blamed.  The  offence  of  Phile- 
mon and  Baucis  was  that,  without  any  fault  of  their 
own,  they  were  unable  to  keej)  pace  with  the  evolu- 


142  GERMAN'  LITERATURE 

tion  of  humanity.  They  claimed  the  right  to  live 
and  think  in  their  own  old-fashioned  way,  and  to 
remain  unaffected  by  the  progress  of  the  age.  They 
were  so  eminently  respectable,  religious,  and  con- 
servative that  it  followed,  as  a  matter  of  course,  that 
any  one  who  did  not  agree  with  them  must  be  a 
dangerous  innovator — an  enemy  of  society.  Baucis 
intimated  that  Faust  was  a  wizard,  and  that  he  "  of- 
fered up  human  sacrifices  in  the  night  to  strange 
gods  ; "  she  held  up  her  hands  in  holy  hon'or  at  the 
unheard-of  sacrilege  of  his  reputed  speech  and  ac- 
tion. He  became  a  bugbear  to  her,  and  nothing 
could  be  too  monstrous  to  be  ci'edited,  if  it  related 
to  him.  And  yet,  as  the  reader  knows,  Faust's 
sleepless  desire  and  dominating  passion,  at  this 
final  stage  of  his  career,  were  to  benefit  humanity. 
He  was  the  altruistic  type,  as  Goethe  conceived  it, 
in  its  perfection. 

I  dare  say  we  have  all  known  Philemon  and  Bau- 
cis, and  recognize  their  features,  as  here  represent- 
ed, to  be  true.  The  hostile  attitude  toward  "the 
spirit  of  the  age  "  which  is  here  punished,  and  held 
to  be  worthy  of  punishment,  is  characteristic  of  the 
larger  portion  of  what  is  called  respectable  society. 
There  has  probably  never  been  an  age  when  old 
people  did  not  mourn  the  degeneracy  of  the  times, 
and  sigh  for  the  good  old  days,  when  they  wei*e 
young.  If  this  regi-et  were  justified,  the  inference 
would  be  inevitable  that  humanity  had  been  going 
steadily  down  hill,  and  was  worse  off  to-day  than  it 
had  ever  been  in  the  past.     We  know,  however,  that 


SERMONS  FROM  GOETHE  1 43 

the  tendency  of  history  has  been  toward  higher  so- 
cial conditions  and  a  gradual  improvement  in  the 
condition  of  the  average  man  ;  for  it  is  by  the  status, 
not  of  the  favored  few,  but  of  the  vast  mass,  that  a 
century  must  be  judged.  The  farther  back  we  go 
the  greater  Ave  find,  generally  speaking,  the  con- 
trast to  be  between  the  lives  of  the  ruling  classes  and 
those  of  the  dumb  and  toiling  masses.  The  prog- 
ress of  civilization  is  properly  gauged  by  its  grad- 
ual elevation  of  the  average  of  happiness  ;  and  this 
is  efifected,  not  so  much  by  the  increased  splendor 
of  the  rich,  as  by  the  increased  comfort  of  the 
poor.  A  gradual  rearrangement  of  economic  forces 
is  taking  place,  tending  in  this  direction. 

If,  then,  the  watchword  of  advancing  civilization  is 
"  the  greatest  good  of  the  greatest  number,"  it  follows 
that  there  will  always  be  a  minority  whose  interests 
are  likely  to  be  sacrificed.  The  path  of  progress  is 
strewn  with  victims  whose  only  fault  was  that  they 
were  superfluous — that  the  life-blood  of  the  age  did 
not  pulsate  in  their  veins.  They  are  waste  tissue  in 
the  body  social,  and  would,  as  such  (unless  they  are 
carried  off),  impede  the  vital  circulation.  Philemon 
and  Baucis  are  peri^etually  being  sacrificed  ;  and 
perpetually  reappear  to  be  sacrificed  anew.  They 
are  such  worthy  and  admirable  people  that  it  is  dif- 
ficult to  understand  how  they  have  deserved  such  a 
cruel  fate.  Not  necessai'ily  in  the  summary  manner 
in  which  "Faust"  disposes  of  them  are  they  being 
eliminated  (for  that  action  is,  of  course,  symboHcal), 
but  in  a  hundied  ways  they  are  pushed  aside,  tram- 


144  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

pled  upon — immolated  to  the  relentless  spirit  of  the 
age.  The  current  of  time  speeds  away  from  them, 
and  leaves  them,  high  and  dry,  like  useless  dross 
upon  its  banks.  They  do  not,  indeed,  suspect  how 
dead  they  are  ;  but  keep  up  a  semblance  of  hfe  by 
railing  against  that  which  they  do  not  understand  ; 
which,  perhaps,  they  have  made  no  effort  to  under- 
stand, finding  denunciation  easier  than  investigation. 
They  fight  facts  with  sentiments,  and  pride  them- 
selves on  having  made  out  an  impregnable  argu- 
ment. Forgetting  that  beauty  is  a  purely  relative 
term — a  purely  personal  impression — they  imagine 
that  they  have  proved  a  thing  to  be  wrong  if  they 
find  it  revolting  to  their  own  sense  of  beauty.  Medi- 
aeval feudalism  presents  a  very  picturesque  spec- 
tacle, and  its  gradual  departure  has  been  lamented 
by  the  Philemons  of  each  succeeding  generation, 
who  saw  only  the  loss  of  ancient  romance,  with- 
out observing  the  corresponding  gain  in  general 
comfort  and  welfare,  which  follows  in  the  footsteps 
of  advancing  industrialism.  And  Baucis,  who  is  at 
heart  a  bitter  aristocrat,  observes  in  her  kitchen  the 
unpleasant  phases  of  democracy  and  sighs  for  the 
good  old  times  when  masters  could  command  and 
servants  obey. 

"  Talk  of  the  pursuit  of  happiness,"  said  a  house- 
keeping member  of  Baucis's  sex  to  me  recently  ; 
"and  you  say  the  Constitution  guarantees  it  to 
women.  Well,  nothing  would  conduce  more  to  my 
happiness  than  twelve  hours  of  absolutism  in  which 
to  avencre  all  the  wrongs  I  have  suffered  in  twelve 


SERMONS  FROM  GOETHE  145 

years  from  my  servants.  But  no  law,  as  far  as  I  can 
discover,  takes  any  account  of  my  happiness,  while 
there  are  at  least  a  dozen  that  concern  themselves 
with  that  of  the  servant-girl.  If  she  chooses  to  sue 
me  for  any  sort  of  fancied  injury,  or  merely  to  ex- 
tort money,  she  is  likely,  by  virtue  of  her  inferior 
position,  to  have  both  judge  and  jury  on  her  side, 
as  I  have  found  to  my  cost  on  two  occasions  ;  while 
if  she  steals  from  me  or  otherwise  injures  me,  I  have 
to  pocket  my  loss,  knowing  that  the  chances  are 
against  me  in  an  American  court,  and  that  I  ought 
to  be  happy  if  I  escape  a  prosecution  for  libel." 

It  was  useless  to  argue  with  her,  of  course,  for 
Baucis's  sex  has  not  its  forte  in  argument ;  but  she 
declared,  with  unconscious  humor,  that  democracy 
was  a  detestable  thing,  and  that  if  it  were  not  for 
her  husband's  business  she  would  emigrate  to  Rus- 
sia. The  greatest  good  of  the  majority,  she  insisted, 
involved  the  greatest  misery  of  the  minority — to 
which  she  and  I  had  the  misfortune  to  belong.  It 
was  a  paradoxical  statement  and  considerably  over- 
shot the  mark  ;  but  it  had  a  modicum  of  truth  in  it, 
and  I  cannot  withhold  my  sympathy  from  Baucis, 
even  though  I  do  not  agree  with  her. 

There  is  a  particular  reason  why  I  feel  soiTy  for 
Baucis,  and  am  scrupulous  to  do  her  full  justice,  and 
that  is  because,  if  I  live  long  enough,  I  may  myself 
become  a  Philemon.  The  vanguard  of  one  age  is 
apt  to  become  the  rear-guard  of  the  next ;  and  at  the 
rate  at  which  tlie  century  is  moving  there  is  a  possi- 
bility that  I  may  not  manage  to  keep  up  with  it 
10 


I46  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Comparatively  rare  are  the  men  and  women  in  whom 
the  progressive  spirit  keeps  pace  with  the  world 
about  them,  and  who  at  seventy  judge  as  justly 
concerning  the  tendencies  of  the  times  as  they  did 
at  forty.  We  are  apt  to  ossify  with  age  ;  our  sym- 
pathies are  more  on  their  guard,  and  we  cling  with 
a  natural  j^redilection  to  that  which  was  contempo- 
rary with  our  prime.  Goethe  is  the  most  radiant  ex- 
ception to  this  rule  that  I  can  recall,  although  Glad- 
stone and  Darwin  follow  close  behind  him.  I  do 
not  mean  to  imply,  of  course,  that  all  change  is 
progress  and  that  all  tendencies  which  are  wide- 
spread and  general  are  therefore  worthy  of  approval ; 
but,  broadly  speaking,  humanity  moves  foi'ward 
(though  with  many  distracting  whirlpools  and  eddies 
which  tend  backward  or  nowhere) ;  and  it  is  the 
test  of  a  vigorous  intellect  and  a  vital  personality  to 
be  able  to  discover  in  which  of  these  tendencies  its 
real  progress  is  manifested.  Every  quack  and 
pseudo-reformer  who  hawks  his  panacea  for  social 
ills  on  the  platform  or  through  the  press  claims  to 
be  the  champion  of  progress,  and  dubs  every  one  who 
opposes  him  an  old  fogy  and  an  obscui'antist.  But 
no  one  need  be  troubled  by  such  names,  as  long  as 
he  stands  in  the  thick  of  the  fight,  and  has  a  strong 
conviction  of  his  usefulness.  We  must  work  while 
it  is  day  ;  for  the  night  cometh,  when  no  man  can 
work. 

It  is  only  when  we  hold  aloof,  because  we  feel 
that  the  age  has  outstripped  us,  or  because  we  are 
dissatisfied  with  the  spii'it  which  prevails  about  us, 


SERMONS  FROM  GOETHE  147 

or  because  we  feel  beforehand  the  futility  of  all  en- 
deavors on  our  part  to  oppose  that  of  which  we 
disapprove ;  it  is  then  that  we  become  Philemon  s. 
When  we  have  reached  that  stage  it  does  not  matter 
much,  as  far  as  the  world  is  concerned,  if  we  order 
our  shrouds,  or  perish,  as  the  original  Philemon 
did,  of  stupid  fright.  Faust  in  his  typical  quality, 
as  the  representative  of  society,  has  then  a  perfect 
right  to  oust  us  from  our  inheritance,  and  we  have 
no  right  to  complain  if  the  "three  strong  men"  of 
action  take  possession  of  the  soil  which  was  ours, 
but  which  we  have  lost  through  our  inability  to  use 
it  for  our  own  benefit  and  that  of  our  fellow-men : 

*'  For  only  he  earns  life  and  liberty 
Who  daily  conquers  them  anew." 


VI. 

GOETHE'S  RELATIONS  TO  WOMEN. 

WHEN  an  author,  even  after  his  death,  con- 
tinues to  live,  and  his  influence  goes  on 
growing  from  generation  to  generation,  it  is  safe  to 
assume  that  such  survival  is  not  accidental.  No 
amount  of  artificial  enthusiasm  on  the  part  of  a  co- 
terie of  worshippers  will  be  able  to  keep  a  poet  alive 
whose  message,  addressed  to  his  own  time,  has  no 
significance  to  posterity.  What  primarily  secures 
survival  is  being  in  the  current  of  the  world's  intel- 
lectual development ;  being  a  link,  and  perhaps  an 
indispensable  one,  in  the  intellectual  evolution  of  hu- 
manity. It  is  in  this  capacity  that  Goethe  demands 
the  world's  attention.  There  have  been  greater  poets 
than  he,  greater  statesmen,  and  greater  scientists, 
but  there  never  has  been  a  man  in  modern  times  of 
so  many-sided  endowments  and  varied  intellectual 
equipment.  Taking  him  all  in  all,  he  is  the  most 
complete  man  in  modern  history.  In  fact  ho  as- 
pired consciously  for  this  completeness.  He  de- 
veloped himself  consciously  on  all  sides  of  his  nat- 
ure. His  ideal,  which  he  embodied  in  the  Greek 
word    KoXoKayaSia,   was   self-culture,   an    harmoni- 


GOETHE  'S  RELATIONS  TO    WOMEN      1 49 

ous  development  of  body  and  mind,  of  his  physical 
and  intellectual  being.  He  applied  a  sagacity  and 
a  largeness  of  vision  to  the  interpretation  of  life 
which,  I  fancy,  has  never  been  equalled.  A  more 
calmly  impartial  and  fearless  CEdipus  never  ap- 
proached the  Sphinx  offering  to  solve  her  riddle. 

"The  desire  to  raise  the  pyramid  of  my  existence, 
the  base  of  which  is  already  laid,  as  high  as  pos- 
sible into  the  air,  absorbs  every  other  desire,  and 
scai'cely  ever  leaves  me,"  he  wrote  to  his  friend 
Lavater  in  his  youth,  and  throughout  his  long  life 
he  never  wavered  in  this  purpose.  This  declaration 
meant  something  more  than  the  mere  determination 
to  rise  in  the  world  as  far  as  his  talents  would  per- 
mit. It  meant  that  he  had  fashioned  for  himself  an 
ideal  of  high  and  fi'ee  humanity  which  he  meant 
gradually  to  realize  in  his  own  inward  and  outward 
self.  He  meant  to  allow  no  person,  relation,  or  cir- 
cumstance to  interfere  with  this  purpose  and  to 
subordinate  all  ambitions,  passions,  and  desires  to  its 
realization. 

This  is  the  key-note  of  Goethe's  life  ;  it  is  the 
theme  so  richly  varied  through  the  vivid  and  enter- 
taining chapters  of  his  autobiography.  Let  us 
just  as  well  admit  that  it  was  not  a  Christian  ideal. 
In  its  essence  it  was  Greek  and  intrinsically  pagan. 
The  Hellenic  ideal  of  culture  ignored  (as  did 
Goethe's)  the  educational  value  of  suffering.  The 
whole  range  of  sentiments  and  emotions  which  took 
possession  of  the  world  with  the  introduction  of 
Christianity  was,  generally  speaking,  a  scaled  book 


ISO  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

to  the  pagan  philosopher.  Not  that  acts  of  heroic 
self-sacrifice  are  unknown  to  Greek  literature  ;  but, 
taking  the  whole  tendency  of  Hellenic  civilization, 
you  find  that  it  strove  to  develop  the  individual  to 
the  highest  perfection  and  recognized  his  right  to 
subjugate  the  world  to  his  uses,  as  far  as  his  powers 
permitted — make  it  tributary  to  his  own  existence. 
Though  we  exercise  this  right  (with  slight  legal 
restraints)  at  the  present  day,  and  abjectly  admire 
the  man  who  does  it  most  successfully,  we  hypo- 
critically profess  a  philosophy  which  teaches  the 
beauty  of  self-abnegation  and  altruistic  devotion  to 
the  cause  of  humanity. 

Quite  apart,  then,  from  moral  considerations,  let  us 
see  how  Goethe  applied  this  pagan  principle  of  life 
and  what  he  achieved  by  its  guidance.  This  is  in- 
deed a  most  interesting  inquiry,  for  Goethe  is,  as 
far  as  I  am  aware,  the  only  conspicuous  modern  man 
who  has  professed  an  egoism  so  complete  and  con- 
sistently practised  it.  That  both  in  "  Faust "  and 
"Wilhelra  Meister "  he  points  to  altruism  as  the 
higher  philosophy,  and  makes  both  his  heroes  ulti- 
mately find  happiness  in  devotion  to  the  happiness  of 
their  fellow-men,  is  irrelevant.  It  shows  that  Goethe 
was  capable  of  conceiving  a  type  morally  above  him- 
self, and  that  he  did  not  suppose  that  the  stage  of 
development  which  he  had  himself  reached  was  by 
any  means  final.  For  though  he  was  by  nature 
kindly  and  spent  one-sixth  of  his  income  in  charity, 
he  certainly  never  rose  to  the  moral  height  of  Faust 
in  the  last  act  of  the  Second  Part.     He  loved  his 


GOETHE'S  RELATIONS   TO    WOMEN       151 

friends  so  long  as  tliey  Lad  something  to  contribute 
to  his  life,  and  he  dropped  them  or  shook  them  off 
when  he  had  exhausted  their  educational  value. 
That  may  appear  a  harsh  statement,  but  it  is  un- 
questionably true.  It  was  especially  in  his  relations 
to  women  that  he  exhibited  this  side  of  his  nature. 

Take,  for  instance,  the  episode  with  Frederica 
Brion,  the  daughter  of  the  pastor  at  Sesenheim. 
He  professes  to  have  loved  Frederica.  She  was  a 
new  phenomenon  to  him,  and  in  a  half-literary  way 
he  delighted  in  her  rural  simplicity,  kindness  of 
heart,  and  artless  prattle.  From  the  very  first  she 
appeared  to  him  as  the  heroine  of  a  book  ;  and  the 
whole  household  struck  him  by  its  resemblance  to 
Parson  Primrose's  household  in  Goldsmith's  "  Vicar 
of  Wakefield."  So  vivid  became  this  fancy  that  he 
seems  to  have  lived,  during  his  visits  to  the  parson- 
age, more  in  the  book  than  in  the  reality,  and  to 
have  assigned  to  himself,  half  involuntarily,  the  part 
of  the  villain,  Mr.  Burchell.  This  role  did  not 
satisfy  him,  however,  and  he  soon  began  to  play 
the  part  of  the  honest  lover  in  so  far  as  his  literary 
character  (which  he  never  quite  could  get  rid  of) 
would  permit  him.  That,  after  much  masquerading, 
he  ended  by  falling  seriously  in  love,  admits  of 
no  doubt ;  but  as  soon  as  he  had  assured  himself 
that  his  affection  was  returned,  the  delight  of  pursuit 
was  naturally  at  an  end  ;  and  the  delight  of  posses- 
sion, which  to  most  lovers  would  have  been  an  ample 
compensation,  caused  him  more  disquietude  than 
pleasure.     He  had  to  ask  himself  now  what  obliga- 


152  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

tion  he  had  incurred  in  return  for  that  which  he  had 
accepted.  He  had  to  readjust  his  life  with  refer- 
ence to  this  new  element  which  he  had  introduced 
into  it.  And  this  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to 
do.  Frederica  had  awakened  in  his  soul  all  the 
emotions  she  was  capable  of  awakening,  and  when 
he  came  to  contemplate  her  as  a  disturbing  factor  in 
his  scheme  of  existence,  she  lost  much  of  her  fas- 
cination. Instead  of  furthering  his  serene  self-de- 
velopment, she  threatened  to  interfere  with  it  by 
the  claim  which  the  mere  fact  of  her  love  seemed 
to  make  upon  his  interest  and  attention.  In  order 
to  escape  the  responsibility  and  the  pain  of  a  definite 
rupture,  he  betook  himself  away,  and  by  cruel 
neglect  allowed  the  relation  to  dwindle  away  into 
nothing.  He  was  too  young  at  that  time,  and  withal 
too  emotional,  not  to  suffer  himself  a  large  share  of 
the  pain  which  he  inflicted.  The  image  of  Frede- 
rica, reaching  him  tearfully  her  hand  at  their  part- 
ing, pursued  him  and  caused  him  much  misery. 
Though  he  strove  in  nowise  to  embellish  bis  conduct, 
and  for  a  while  was  a  prey  to  remorse,  he  could  not 
persuade  himself  to  return  and  manfully  assume  the 
responsibility  for  his  actions.  Instead  of  that  he 
sought  consolation  in  literary  composition.  He  re- 
produced his  own  relation  to  Frederica  in  that  of 
Weisslingen  to  Maria  in  his  drama,  •'  Gotz  von 
Berlichiugen,"  and  imposed  a  vicarious  penance  upon 
the  faithless  lover  by  making  him  fall  into  the  toils 
of  a  remorselessly  cruel  and  ambitious  woman,  who 
used  him  for  her  own  evil  purposes. 


GOETHE'S  RELATIONS  TO    WOMEN       1 53 

This  whole  proceeding  is  characteristic  from  be- 
ginning to  end,  and  is  repeated,  with  variations,  in 
all  Goethe's  love  affairs.  Love,  as  the  world  is  now 
arranged,  is  supposed  to  lead  to  marriage.  But 
marriage  contains  so  large  an  element  of  the  unfore- 
seen, and  imposes  so  many  complex  duties  and  obli- 
gations, that  a  man  who  has  a  definite  scheme  of 
self-development  upon  which  his  heart  is  set,  may 
well  shrink  from  embarking  upon  so  venturesome  an 
enterprise.  But  in  that  case,  you  will  say,  he  1ms 
no  right  to  fall  in  love.  No  honorable  man  will 
court  the  favor  of  a  woman  and  win  her  affection 
unless  he  has  counted  the  cost  and  means  to  defray 
it.  There  is,  however,  also  something  to  be  said  on 
the  other  side  of  the  question.  Nature  has  treated 
the  male  creature  rather  unfairly  in  this  matter, 
having  implanted  in  him  a  strong  passion  which 
draws  him,  in  spite  of  his  better  judgment,  toward 
the  other  sex.  This  passion  befuddles  his  reason 
and  disables  him  from  seeing  and  thinking  clearly. 
The  common  callow  youth,  who  is  but  a  mediocre 
specimen  of  his  kind  (and  who,  to  show  his  quality, 
ought  to  be  numbered,  not  named),  rushes  blindly 
into  the  first  net  that  the  female  enchanter  has 
spread  for  him,  and  in  his  maudlin  felicity  feels  not 
the  meshes  of  fate  in  which  he  is  entangled.  He 
marries,  reproduces  his  imbecility  in  half  a  dozen 
specimens  of  his  own  kind,  and  struggles  patiently 
with  the  troubles  incident  upon  his  blessed  estate. 

Now,  it  may  be  that  this  man  is  wise.  He  could 
probably  not  fulfil  any  higher  destiny.     But  the 


154  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

rare,  the  exceptional  man,  richly  endowed,  who  sees 
the  benevolent  imposition  which  Nature  practises 
upon  him  and  refuses  to  play  into  her  hands,  is  he, 
after  all,  to  be  so  I'uthlessly  condemned  ?  Man-iage 
is  a  social  institution,  admirably  devised  to  preserve 
the  social  order  and  an  even  progressive  develop- 
ment. It  does  not  primarily  concern  itself  with  the 
happiness  of  the  two  contracting  parties,  but  with 
that  of  the  society  to  which  they  belong.  But,  of 
course,  the  two  callow  simpletons  have  no  suspi- 
cion of  this  suiTeptitious  design  on  Nature's  part ; 
but  innocently  believe  that  the  institution  was  de- 
signed to  secure  their  own  individual  felicity,  which 
undoubtedly  in  many  cases  it  does.  But  even  so 
wise  a  man  as  Emerson  was  of  opinion  that  the  poet, 
the  scholar,  the  man  who  was  bent  upon  accomplish- 
ing some  high  pui'pose,  had  better  not  give  hostages 
to  fortune.  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten  his  purpose 
will,  without  anyone's  fault,  be  thwarted,  and  by 
numerous  unforeseen  and  unforeseeable  circum- 
stances be  diverted  from  its  original  aim.  He  may, 
indeed,  yet  accomplish  much  ;  but  he  will  fall  short 
of  the  highest  achievement  attainable  by  a  man  of 
his  gifts. 

It  is  as  a  special  advocate  for  Goethe  that  I  have 
advanced  this  argument.  I  am  convinced  that  it 
was  the  way  the  problem  presented  itself  to  him. 
He  has  nowhere  expressed  himself  on  this  subject, 
but  his  conduct  is  evei*y where  governed  by  the  same 
principle.  He  was  always  very  susceptible  to  the 
charms  of  women,  and  the  long  series  of  his  affaires 


GOETHE'S  RELATIONS  TO    WOMEN      1 55 

de  cceur,  beginning  with  his  sixteenth  and  ending  in 
the  neighborhood  of  his  eightieth  year,  exhibits, 
mutatis  mutandis,  the  same  general  characteristics  as 
the  one  of  which  the  Alsatian  parson's  daughter  was 
the  heroine. 

Omitting  the  Wetzlar  episode,  in  which  Charlotte 
Buff  figured,  the  chapter  which  chronologically 
comes  next  has  for  a  heading  the  name  of  Lili 
Schonemann,  the  daughter  of  a  rich  Frankfurt 
banker.  Lili  was,  as  her  portraits  show,  a  beauty, 
and  altogether  a  statelier  and  more  accomplished 
lady  than  Frederica.  When  Goethe  made  her  ac- 
quaintance she  was  scarcely  more  than  a  Backfisch^ 
which  is  the  German  term  for  that  intermediate 
stage  when  a  girl  is  neither  a  child  nor  yet  a  grown 
woman.  She  was  a  trifle  pert,  and  practised  the  arts 
of  young  ladyhood  with  all  the  empressement  of  a 
novice.  She  was  a  coquette,  full  of  moods  «nd  ca- 
prices, but  at  heart  (as  her  later  history  shows)  a  fine 
and  sterling  character,  or,  at  all  events,  she  developed 
in  the  course  of  time  into  a  sterling  character 
through  the  experience  of  wifehood  and  mother- 
hood. The  house  of  her  mother  (her  father  had  died 
when  she  was  but  five  years  old)  was  the  rendezvous 
of  all  who  made  pretension  to  elegance  in  the  social 
world  of  Frankfurt,  and  a  certain  consciousness  of 
her  social  importance  gave  to  the  young  girl  an  air 
of  high  breeding,  security  of  bearing,  and  charm  of 
manner.  To  Goethe,  who  had  not  before  associated 
with  women  of  that  type,  she  was  a  revelation. 
When  he  stood  leaning  over  the  piano  and  watched 


I  56  GERM  A  N  LITER  A  TURK 

her  nimble  fingers  travelling  with  amazing  skill  over 
the  keys,  admiring  the  natural  grace  of  her  move- 
ments, her  image  sank  into  his  soul  and  took  com- 
plete possession  of  him.  It  was  the  newness  of  the 
type  which  she  presented  that  primarily  fascinated 
him  ;  and  though  the  thought  of  her  literary  value 
was  then  far  from  his  mind,  the  feeHngs  which  she 
awakened  in  him  demanded  immediate  expression 
and  inspired  that  most  exquisite  gi'oup  of  lyrics 
which  has  ever  since  been  associated  with  her  name. 
In  all  bis  former  affairs  his  conquests  had  been  too 
easy.  He  had  been  too  conscious  of  his  masculine 
superiority,  too  self-reliant  in  his  love  to 

"Taste  the  raptured  sweetness 
Of  her  divine  completeness." 

The  t(»rment,  the  fever,  and  the  fret  of  love's  sus- 
pense, doubt,  and  burning  humility  he  had  never 
known.  Frederica  had  fallen,  like  a  ripe  peach,  into 
his  lap,  as  soon  as  he  gently  shook  the  tree,  and  in 
the  case  of  Charlotte  Buff  there  is  every  evidence  to 
show  that  he  refrained  from  shaking  the  tree,  because 
he  felt  equally  certain  that  the  fruit  would  drop.  As 
in  that  contingency  the  question  of  ownership  would 
arise,  with  many  unpleasant  complications,  he  pre- 
ferred to  run  away  before  the  temptation  to  pluck 
the  forbidden  fruit  became  irresistible.  But  now, 
in  the  presence  of  this  imperious  and  capricious 
Lili,  he  learned  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  the  role 
of  a  petitioner.     She  was  a  woman  of  the  world,  or 


GOETHE'S  RELATIONS  TO    WOMEN       1 57 

thought  herself  one,  and  though  she  was  strongly 
drawn  to  the  handsome  young  poet  (and  in  an  un- 
guarded moment  told  him  so),  she  did  not  intend 
to  be  won  easily.  Her  dignity  demanded  that  he 
should  suffer  and  make  sacrifices  for  her  sake,  and 
if  he  passed  creditably  through  the  purgatory  which 
she  deliberately  prepared  for  him,  she  meant  to  re- 
ward him  with  her  own  sweet  and  distinguished 
self.  If  in  a  moment  of  confidence  she  was  betrayed 
into  forgetting  her  dignity',  this  neglected  attribute 
was  apt  to  demand  reparation  by  asserting  itself  the 
more  at  their  next  meeting.  She  also  professed 
what  appeared  to  Goethe  a  monstrous  sentiment, 
viz.,  a  desire  to  attract  all  men  indiscriminately,  to 
please  and  entertain  them,  and  to  feel  herself  the  cen- 
tre of  an  admiring  throng.  He,  too,  had  his  dignity 
to  maintain  ;  and  petted  and  spoiled  as  he  had  been 
by  doting  women,  he  could  not  consent  to  be  one  of 
a  number  who  rejoiced  in  her  favor.  K  he  could  not 
be  lord  supreme  and  sole  usurper,  he  wished  to  be 
told  so  once  for  all,  so  that  he  might  tear  himself 
away  and  quit  forever  the  frivolous  and  unprofitable 
life  into  which  he  had  been  led  by  her.  But  such  a 
decisive  declaration  Lili  would  not  make,  or  if  she 
made  it,  it  had  no  perceptible  effect  on  her  conduct. 
Accordingly  they  quarrelled,  made  up  and  quar- 
relled again.  German  as  he  was,  and  by  nature  se- 
rious, he  was  utterly  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  her 
'*■  flirtatious  "  temperament.  Possibly  he  regarded 
it  as  an  indication  of  moral  obliquity.  But  so  great 
was  Lili's  power  over  him,  that  the  fascination  she 


158  GERMAN  LITERA  TURE 

exerted  rose  superior  to  moral  considerations.  For 
the  very  reason  that  he  never  felt  quite  sure  of  her, 
he  returned  after  each  estrangement,  and  finally, 
through  the  machinations  of  a  benevolent  friend, 
bound  himself  to  her  by  a  formal  engagement. 
But  what  Grimm  calls  the  demoniac  element  in  Goe- 
the's nature  made  him  chafe  under  every  obligation, 
however  shadowy,  and  yearn  to  throw  off  a  yoke, 
however  lightly  it  pressed.  He  always  cooled,  at 
least  temporaiily,  after  having  achieved  a  conquest ; 
and  the  plain,  prosaic  scenes  which  in  Love's  com- 
edy are  apt  to  follow  the  poetic  prologue,  he  always 
shrank  from  playing  a  part  in.*  Under  these  cir- 
cumstances he  resorted  to  his  usual  remedy  :  he 
ran  away,  this  time  to  Switzerland.  On  his  return  it 
was  probably  his  intention  to  break  off  the  engage- 
ment, in  spite  of  his  love  for  Lili,  which  he  had  not 
succeeded  in  eradicating.  But  instead  of  that,  he 
fell  under  her  charm  more  completely  than  ever. 
He  disapproved  of  her,  and  yet  adored  her ;  he 
acted  as  her  cavalier  at  balls  and  parties,  because 
his  jealousy  would  not  permit  him  to  stay  away  ;  he 
rebelled  against  his  thraldom  in  prose  and  verse  ; 
and  finally,  seeing  that  he  was  being  alienated  from 
the  life  work  to  which  his  genius  called  him,  and 

*  This  reluctance  to  transpose  the  poetry  of  love  into  the 
prose  of  matrimony  is  the  subject  of  Henrik  Ibsen's  play, 
Love's  Comedy.  The  heroine,  Svanhild,  marries  the  man 
whom  she  does  not  love  and  separates  from  him  whom  she 
does  love,  lest  the  harmony  of  life's  highest  bliss  might  be 
jarred  into  a  matrimonial  discord. 


GOETHE'S  RELATIONS  TO    WOMEN       1 59 

drawn  into  a  whirlpool  of  inane  social  festivities 
(which  were  the  very  atmosphere  of  her  being),  he 
took  advantage  of  one  of  their  frequent  lovers'  quar- 
rels and  allowed  the  engagement  to  lapse. 

His  motive  is  here  distinctly  the  same  as  before. 
He  loved  Lili,  and  suffered  keenly  by  their  separa- 
tion ;  but  as  she  would  not  fit  into  his  scheme  of 
existence,  but  rather  strove  to  fit  him  into  her  own, 
he  had  no  choice  but  to  break  with  her,  vmless  he 
chose  to  modify  his  plan  of  life  or  subordinate  it  to 
his  relation  to  her.  It  is  true  that  Lili,  on  one  occa- 
sion, when  the  parents  on  both  sides  raised  objec- 
tions to  their  union,  proposed  to  flee  with  him  to 
Ameiica  ;  and  it  is  even  possible  that  she  would 
have  had  the  strength  of  character  to  make  this 
sacrifice,  if  he  had  been  wilhng  to  accept  it.  But 
that  kind  of  heroism,  in  the  great  crises  of  life,  is  a 
very  different  thing  from  the  heroism  of  daily  renun- 
ciation of  cherished  habits  and  ambitions.  The 
same  Lili  who  would  cheerfully  have  embarked  for 
the  wilds  of  an  unknown  world  for  the  sake  of  the 
man  she  loved,  would  probably  not,  for  his  sake, 
have  gone  to  a  ball  in  a  high-necked  dress,  or  re- 
sisted the  temptation  to  flirt,  though  she  knew  it 
made  him  miserable. 

Though  of  all  the  women  who  figure  in  Goethe's 
autobiography,  Lili  was,  as  it  appears  to  me,  best 
qualified  to  make  him  happj',  I  believe  he  acted 
wisely  in  refusing  to  become  enslaved  to  a  life  that 
was  uncongenial  to  him.  She  was  too  definite  and 
too  considerable  a  personality  (which  Fredeiica  was 


l6o  GERMAN-  LITERATURE 

not)  to  avoid  exerting  a  strong  influence  upon  him, 
and,  in  short,  playing  havoc  with  his  scheme  of  Hfe. 
What  this  influence  would  have  been  we  are  only 
left  to  conjecture  ;  but  I  fancy  that,  though  in  one 
respect  it  would  have  been  wholesome,  in  this  it 
w'ould  have  been  injurious.  She  would,  of  course, 
have  saved  him  from  the  irregular  domestic  relation 
with  Cbristiane  Vulpius,  which  directly  and  indirectly 
caused  him  much  suffering  and  some  moral  deterio- 
ration. She  would,  when  the  mere  foam  and  froth 
of  youthful  exuberance  had  blown  away,  have  stood 
at  his  side  as  an  affectionate  and  dignified  wife  who 
would  have  kept  his  regard  and  surrounded  him 
with  an  atmosphere  of  order,  comfort,  and  sympathy. 
For  into  such  a  wife  Lili  developed  in  her  marriage 
with  a  much  lesser  man,  the  Alsatian  nobleman, 
Baron  von  Tiirklieim.  And  in  later  years,  so  far 
from  cherishing  a  petty  resentment,  she  declared 
that  she  owed  to  Goethe  her  moral  and  intellectual 
existence.  But  though  we  may  concede  that  his  life 
would  have  run  more  smoothly  with  such  a  help- 
mate, there  is  to  my  mind  very  little  doubt  that  we 
should  have  lost  the  only  exemplar  which  the  world 
possesses  of  a  career  devoted  exclusively  to  self- 
development.  We  should  have  had  another  Goethe 
and  a  different  one,  and,  taking  him  all  in  all,  prob- 
ably a  lesser  one.  I  know  all  that  can  be  said 
against  this  view  ;  but  it  does  not  seem  to  me  to  be 
of  sufficient  weight  to  reverse  my  judgment.  That 
Olympian  isolation  of  Goethe  which  makes  him  loom 
up  above   his  contemporaries  in  solitary  grandeur 


GOETHE'S  RELATIONS  TO    WOMEN       l6l 

has  always  appeared  to  me  highly  impressive.  I  do 
not  doubt  that  with  a  wife  like  Lili  he  would  have 
found  the  problems  that  beset  him  much  simplified. 
But,  as  he  has  himself  emphasized,  happiness  is  not 
the  highest  aim  of  existence.  The  domestic  type  of 
man  who  lives  to  propagate  and  to  extract  a  fair 
amount  of  comfort  out  of  life  is  so  frequent  that  we 
need  waste  no  regrets  because  Goethe  did  not  add 
one  to  their  number.  He  started  out,  as  so  very- 
few  men  do,  with  a  clear  and  definite  scheme  of 
life,  and  though  tossed  hither  and  thither  by  youth- 
ful passion  and  unforeseen  circumstances,  he  yet 
possessed  the  strength  to  adhere  to  it,  and  to  test 
its  utmost  virtue.  The  compass  which  guided  his 
course  was  not  free  from  occasional  aberrations  when 
disturbing  magnets  were  brought  into  its  vicinit}', 
but  it  quickly  recovered  its  true  bearings  after  each 
aberration.  It  is,  however,  no  imputation  against  its 
excellence  to  beheve  that,  with  a  magnet  of  Lili's 
attractive  and  disturbing  force  in  its  immediate  near- 
ness, it  might  have  recorded  the  deviations  and  varia- 
tions common  to  compasses  thus  situated.  And  the 
world  would,  in  that  case,  have  been  the  loser. 

Furthermore,  to  abandon  metaphor,  I  do  not  be- 
lieve that  Goethe  would  have  found  time  to  record 
his  inner  and  outer  life  so  minutely  if  he  had  been 
wedded  to  Lili.  As  it  is,  his  is  the  most  completely 
recorded  life  which  history  or  literature  has  to  show. 
The  eighteenth  century  was  the  age  of  individualism 
yar  excellence,  and  it  was  the  fashion  to  be  elaborately 
autobiographical. 
11 


l62  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

This  self-centred  and  minutely  descriptive  ten- 
dency of  Goethe  was  undoubtedly  in  the  air.  The 
cultivated  citizen  of  that  day  had  but  vague  and 
shadowy  notions  of  the  state  and  did  not  primarily 
regard  himself  as  a  member  of  a  body  social  His 
first  obligation  was  to  himself  and  his  own  interests, 
and  his  most  absorbing  business  was  to  study  and 
develop  himself.  Goethe  was  in  nowise  exceptional 
in  forming  this  beautiful  scheme  of  using  the  world 
as  an  educative  agency  for  his  own  development, 
but  he  was  exceptional  in  adhering  to  his  scheme 
and  carrying  it  out,  in  making  every  life  that  came 
in  contact  with  his  own  tributai*y  to  his,  and  trans- 
forming what  was  individual  and  accidental  in  it 
into  high  literary  symbols  and  enduring  human 
types.  What  an  exquisite  result  has,  for  instance, 
the  Sesenheim  episode  yielded  !  A  sweet,  common- 
place young  girl,  with  a  nez  retrousse  and  some  poor 
rural  accomplishments,  becomes,  by  the  magic  of 
his  art,  a  permanent  character  in  literature,  an  im- 
mortal type  of  all  that  is  most  touching  and  beauti- 
ful in  womanhood.  I  do  not  say  that  this  was  to 
Frederica  personally  a  compensation.  But  just  as 
Faust  (in  the  Second  Part)  by  deeds  of  repentance 
does  penance  to  humanity  for  his  sin  against  the 
individual  Gretchen,  so  Goethe  in  "Gotz  von  Ber- 
lichingen "  and  "  Clavigo "  made  amends  to  the 
world  for  the  wrong  he  had  done  Frederica.  Nor 
can  I  believe,  as  so  many  critics  do,  that  such  pen- 
ance is  worthless.  No  wrong  can  ever  be  undone, 
and  a  mere  emotional  repentance,  however  much  it 


GOETHE'S  RELATIONS  TO    WOMEN       1 63 

may  benefit  the  penitent,  is  of  no  value  to  him 
against  whom  he  has  sinned. 

"Nichts  taugt  Ungeduld, 
Noch  weniger  Rene  ; 
Jene  vermehrt  die  Schuld, 
Diese  schafft  ueue," 

says  Goethe.  He  believed  that  a  gradual  recovery 
from  all  moral  injury  was  possible  as  long  as  aspira- 
tion survived,  which  was  to  him  a  proof  that  the 
divine  spark  in  the  man  was  not  yet  extinct : 

"  Whoever  aspires  unweariedly 
Is  ne'er  bejond  redeeming." 

Of  all  Goethe's  love  affairs,  the  one  which  has 
been  the  subject  of  most  serious  controversy  is 
his  relation  to  Frau  von  Stein.  We  all  know  that 
the  seventh  commandment  was  laxly  interpreted  by 
the  eighteenth  century,  and  the  society  of  Weimar 
was  no  less  "imperfectly  monogamous"  than  that 
of  other  cities  which  were  the  seats  of  courts. 
Goethe's  fondness  for  Frau  von  Stein  certainly  be- 
gan as  an  intellectual  friendship,  and  both  Grimm 
and  Blackie  believe  that,  though  they  loved  each 
other,  their  relation  was  free  from  reproach. 
Schiller,  who  a  short  time  after  his  an-ival  in  Wei- 
mar writes  the  gossip  of  the  place  to  his  friend  Kor- 
ner,  also  confii-ms  this  opinion.  "  They  say  the  re- 
lation is  perfectly  pure  and  blameless,"  are  his 
words.     And  although  Weimar,   like   every   small 


1 64  GERM  A  N  LITER  A  TURE 

town,  was  a  hornets'  nest  of  scandalous  gossip,  the 
general  contemporary  judgment  appears  to  have 
been  that  Frau  von  Stein  was  and  remained  an 
honorable  woman.  The  published  volumes  of  Goe- 
the's letters  to  her,  which,  like  all  love-letters  not 
addressed  to  one's  self,  are  dull  reading,  do  not  mili- 
tate against  this  theory,  though  many  of  the  hillets 
doux  are  sufficiently  passionate  to  give  color  to  the 
opposite  view. 

But  to  begin  with  the  beginning,  Frau  von  Stein 
was  not  a  beautj'.  A  woman's  looks  are  always  the 
beginning  in  affairs  of  this  sort.  She  had  a  highly- 
refined,  sensitive,  and  delicate  face.  She  was  thirty- 
three  years  old  and  the  mother  of  seven  children.  The 
cares  and  the  physical  drain  of  maternity  (against 
which  she  bitterly  rebelled)  upon  her  strength  had 
left  their  marks  upon  her  features,  which  Imd  a 
weary  and  faded  look.  Her  portrait  shows,  how- 
ever, that  she  must  have  had  a  fine  gift  of  observa- 
tion and  probably  wit.  Her  tastes  drew  her  toward 
reading,  and  the  books  which  interested  her  became 
events  in  her  life.  But  domestic  duties  drew  her 
toward  practical  things  which  were  distasteful; 
hence  her  discontent.  She  had  apparently  not  the 
art  (which  belongs  to  perfect  healtli)  of  bearing  her 
cross  cheerfully.  Being  high-strung  and  of  frail 
physique,  huugering  for  the  beautiful  experiences 
which  fate  thus  far  had  denied  her,  she  furnished  a 
piquant  contrast  to  the  artless  young  girls  upon 
whom  Goethe  had  hitherto  expended  his  sentiment. 
Lafemme  de  trente  ans,  if  she  cares  for  the  role  of  an 


GOETHE'S  RELATIONS  TO   WOMEN'      1 65 

enchantress,  is  a  far  more  dangerous  person  than 
lafemme  de  vingt  ans.  The  latter  is  but  a  more  or 
less  attractive  specimen  of  the  feminine  gender,  and 
the  charm  which  she  exerts  is  of  that  primitive  sort 
that  pervades  all  nature  and  lies  at  the  base  of  crea- 
tion. It  is  heightened,  no  doubt,  by  attractions 
which  may  be  more  or  less  personal  ;  but  as  a  rule 
it  is  safe  to  say  that  personality  at  twenty  is  em- 
bryonic ;  it  is  a  potential  thing,  a  promise  of  some- 
thing which  may  or  may  not  be  realized.  But  a 
woman  of  thirty  has  assumed  her  permanent  colors. 
She  is  the  bud  no  longer,  but  the  flower  in  its  per- 
fect bloom.  The  fragrance  which  emanates  from 
her  is  perilously  subtle,  appealing  even  to  the  jaded 
sense  which  is  proof  against  the  perfume  of  the  bud, 

Frau  von  Stein  possessed  in  a  rare  degree  this 
subtle  charm  of  intellectual  maturity  and  a  distinct, 
highly-developed  personality.  She  had  seen  much 
of  life  and  had  survived  many  illusions  ;  but  the 
experience  which  had  enriched  her  mind  and  sharp- 
ened her  criticism  had  not  soured  or  embittered 
her.  She  could  talk  bi'illiantly  and  with  an  anima- 
tion which  fascinated  all  who  were  privileged  to 
enjoy  her  company.  But  unlike  most  brilliant 
talkers  she  was  also  a  good  listener.  She  entered 
with  warm  sympathy  into  Goethe's  literary  plans, 
and  when  his  thought  was  in  the  stage  of  ferment 
and  vague  obscurity,  she  gave  it  back  to  him  de- 
fined and  clarified. 

Every  man  of  letters  who  has  ever  enjoyed  the 
friendship  of  a  good  woman  knows  the  value  of  this 


1 66  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

stimulating  sympathy.  The  mere  opportunity  to 
express  and  explain  compels  him  to  objectify  his 
thought — to  put  it  outside  of  himself  and  contemplate 
it  impartially.  In  the  warm  air  of  admiring  regard 
the  dormant  or  semi-conscious  thought-germ  sprouts 
forth  rapidly  and  assumes  a  beauty  which  often  sur- 
prises its  parent  From  the  obvious  references  to 
her  in  "  Iphigenia  in  Tauris,"  it  is  plain  that  Frau 
von  Stein  performed  to  Goethe  this  friendly  func- 
tion of  giving  him  back  his  own  ideas  clarified  and 
often  ennobled,  and  by  her  quick  responsiveness 
stimulating  his  intellectual  life  and  enlarging  his 
sympathies.  It  is  significant  in  this  connection  to 
note  that  she  was  by  seven  years  Goethe's  senior, 
though  I  doubt  if  she  would  have  liked  to  be  re- 
minded of  it.  Schiller  speaks  of  "  the  gentle  earnest- 
ness "  of  her  expression  and  "  a  quite  peculiar 
openness."  This  openness  was,  however,  more  ap- 
parent than  real.  It  was,  as  I  fancy,  one  of  her  "  sub- 
tleties." You  imagined  you  understood  her  so  per- 
fectly ;  but  at  your  next  meeting  you  discovered, 
perhaps,  that  you  were  wrong  in  all  your  premises — 
that  you  had  not  commenced  to  fathom  her.  She 
was  frivolous  to-day,  deep  to-morrow,  revealing 
complexities  of  character  which  always  incited  to 
new  investigation.  Adorably  truthful  and  candid 
as  a  child,  she  might  approach  you  in  the  morning, 
and  in  the  afternoon  she  might  be  the  woman  of  the 
world,  the  lady  of  the  court,  dignified,  satirical,  in- 
comprehensible. But  it  was  this  very  intricate  fem- 
ininity of  Charlotte  von  Stein  which  kept  Goethe  for 


GOETHE'S  RELATIONS  TO    WOMEN       1 67 

ten  full  years  at  her  feet.  Had  she  been  less  gifted 
he  would  have  wearied  of  her  enigmatical  conduct. 
But  had  she  been  less  darkly  feminine — had  she, 
with  all  her  intellect  and  power  of  sympathy,  been 
frank  as  a  boy  and  as  easily  fathomable,  she  would 
have  received  his  worship  for  a  year  perhaps,  but 
surely  not  for  ten. 

"I  cannot  send  you  rhymes,"  he  writes  to  her, 
"for  my  prosaic  life  swallows  up  these  brooklets 
like  a  wide  sand- waste ;  but  the  poetry  of  loving 
you,  my  dearest,  cannot  be  taken  away  from  me." 

"  I  have  no  coherent  thoughts,  but  all  my  thoughts 
cohere  through  you." 

"  I  pray  the  Graces  that  they  may  grant  my  pas- 
sion, and  preserve  in  me  that  goodness  of  soul  from 
which  alone  all  beauty  springs." 

"  I  wish  there  were  a  vow  or  a  sacrament  which 
visibly  and  lawfully  could  make  thee  mine  own. 
My  noviciate  surely  was  long  enough  to  enable  me 
to  reconsider.  I  can  no  more  write  you,  as  I  could 
for  a  long  time  not  say  thou  !  The  Jews  had  cords 
with  which  they  tied  their  arms  during  prayer ; 
thus  I  wind  thy  sweet  bonds  around  my  arm  when 
I  address  my  prayer  to  thee  and  wish  thee  to 
make  me  share  thy  goodness,  moderation,  and  pa- 
tience." 

"  Thy  love  makes  a  beautiful  climate  about  me, 
and  through  it  I  am  in  the  way  of  curing  myself  of 
many  a  remnant  of  sins  and  defects.  Thou  hast 
restored  to  me  my  pleasure  in  doing  good,  which 
I  had  entirely  lost.     I  did  it  from  instinct,  and  I  did 


1 68  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

not  feel  happy  in  it.  I  beg  thee,  on  my  knees, 
complete  thy  work  and  make  me  wholly  good." 

This  is  surely  not  the  tone  of  a  guilty  lover.  Nor 
does  it  seem  possible,  knowing,  as  we  do,  how  in- 
timately autobiographical  all  Goethe's  writings  are, 
that  he  would  have  made  Iphigenia,  of  whom  Frau 
von  Stein  was  the  prototype,  a  civilizing  agency 
and  a  morally  elevating  influence  in  the  barbarous 
land  of  Tauris,  if  he  had  not  himself  experienced 
this  very  influence  in  his  own  heart.  King  Thoas 
loves  in  Iphigenia  a  being  of  a  higher  kind,  whose 
goodness  and  gentleness  tame  his  own  wild  nature, 
and  who  in  her  capacity  as  a  priestess  of  Diana  re- 
pels his  passionate  approaches,  but  retains  her 
moral  hold  upon  him,  in  order  that  she  may  benefit 
him  and  through  him  his  people.  This  describes, 
mutatis  mutandis,  the  character  of  the  poet's  relation 
to  Frau  von  Stein,  or  it  furnishes  at  least  the  key 
for  its  interpretation.  He  even  violated  his  histori- 
cal judgment  in  order  to  introduce  this  purely  Ger- 
manic conception  of  womanhood  in  his  "  Iphigenia," 
for  he  surely  knew  as  well  as  anyone  that  it  was 
alien  to  Greek  antiquity. 

It  was  perfectly  in  keeping  with  this  view  of  their 
relation  that  Frau  von  Stein  should  have  taken  offence 
at  Goethe's  liaison  with  Christine  Vulpius,  During 
his  sojourn  in  Italy  (1786-1787)  his  ideas  of  morality 
underwent  a  change — nay,  his  whole  philosophy  of 
life  became  modified.  A  certain  pagan  delight  in 
nudity  becomes  visible  in  his  poems  and  a  deter- 
mination to  live  in  the  senses  as  well  as  in  the  in- 


GOETHE'S  RELATIONS  TO    WOMEN      169 

tellect.  He  flung  away  with  impatience  the  Ger- 
manic ideas  in  which  he  had  been  brought  up,  as 
remnants  of  a  gloomy  asceticism  with  which  he  had 
now  no  sympathy.  Illicit  relations  existed  round 
about  him  in  the  bright  and  laughing  South,  and 
gave  oftence  to  no  one.  The  contemplation  of  the 
Greek  statues  and  all  the  sensuous  gayety  and  splen- 
dor of  the  Italian  Renaissance  awakened  in  him  a 
kind  of  ai'tistic  paganism,  which  presently  reacted 
upon  his  moral  nature  and  made  him  adopt  a  code 
of  ethics,  in  this  particular  chapter,  which  was  not 
that  of  Christianity,  He  had  the  bad  taste  to  make 
Frau  von  Stein  bis  confidante  in  the  liaison  which 
he  contracted  while  in  Italy,  and  it  is  scarcely  to 
be  wondered  at  that  she  resented  it.  He  evidently 
credited  her  with  a  *'  freedom  from  prejudice,"  as 
he  would  have  styled  it,  which  took  no  account  of 
her  womanhood.  And  when  he  took  the  ill-edu- 
cated Christine  Vulpius  into  his  house,  without 
benefit  of  clergy,  she  wrote  him  a  letter  which  put 
an  end  to  their  friendship. 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  attribute  her  action  to 
jealousy,  although  a  grain  of  this  sentiment  may 
have  entered  into  her  very  complex  state  of  mind. 
Jealousy  is,  after  all,  but  the  shadow  thrown  by  the 
light  of  love,  and  the  stronger  the  light  is,  the 
blacker  the  shadow.  I  have  no  sympathy  with 
the  sneering  comment  that,  if  her  relation  to  Goethe 
was  perfectly  platonic,  a  liavion  which  did  not  in 
the  least  encroach  upon  her  temtory  ought  not  to 
have  angered    her.     The  man  who  with  shallow 


I70  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

cynicism  reasons  in  this  way  only  reveals  his  own 
stupidity.  She  had  a  perfect  right  to  be  jealous, 
aud  she  would  have  been  either  more  or  less  than 
woman  if  she  had  serenely  accepted  the  terms 
which  Goethe  offered  her.  Unfortunately,  she  took 
the  precaution  to  demand  her  letters  back  and  de- 
stroy them,  while  his  were  preserved  and  have  been 
published  in  three  stout  volumes.  And  in  the  ab- 
sence of  her  side  of  the  correspondence  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  judge  what  was  the  exact  nature  of  feeling 
which  governed  her  conduct.  I  should  like  to  be- 
lieve that  it  was  not  so  much  a  sense  of  personal 
outrage  as  a  bitter  disappointment  and  soi-row  at 
his  having  fallen  short  of  her  ideal  of  him.  But  in 
each  of  us,  whether  man  or  woman,  there  is  a 
higher  and  a  baser  self  which  may  alternately  govern 
our  words  and  actions.  Frau  von  Stein  at  her 
best,  and  Frau  von  Stein  at  her  worst,  were  as 
widely  different  persons  as  was  Goethe  at  the  two 
poles  of  his  being.  It  was  surely  not  in  his  Olym- 
pian capacity  that  he  wi'ote  her  the  celebrated  "  cof- 
fee letter,"  of  which  this  is  an  extract : 

*'  How  much  I  love  you  I  have  shown  by  my  re- 
turn from  Italy.  What  I  left  behind  me  there  I 
will  not  repeat,  as  you  received  my  confidence  on 
that  point  in  a  sufficiently  unfriendly  manner.  Un- 
happily, you  were  in  a  singular  state  of  mind  when 
I  returned,  and  I  confess  candidly  that  the  manner 
in  which  you  received  me  caused  me  pain.  .  .  . 
And  all  that  before  the  relation  existed  which 
seems  to  offend  you  so  much.     And  what  kind  of 


GOETHE'S  RELATIONS  TO   WOMEN      I/I 

relation  is  it  ?  Who  is  defrauded  by  it  ?  Who  lays 
claim  to  the  sentiments  which  I  give  the  poor  creat- 
ure and  who  to  the  hours  I  spend  with  her  ?  .  .  . 
I  should  like  to  add  much  more  if  I  did  not  fear 
rather  to  offend  than  to  conciliate  you  in  your 
present  state  of  mind.  Unhappily,  you  have  for  a 
long  while  disregarded  ray  advice  in  regard  to 
coffee.  It  is  not  enough  that  it  is  often  difficult 
morally  to  overcome  certain  impressions  ;  you  in- 
tensify by  a  physical  means  the  tormenting  power  of 
sad  thoughts.  I  cannot  quite  give  up  the  hope  that 
you  will  again  know  me  as  I  am." 

It  is  distinctly  Goethe's  pagan  self,  that  had 
breathed  for  a  year  the  air  of  the  Italian  Renais- 
sance, which  speaks  in  this  letter.  He  professes 
not  to  be  able  to  comprehend  why  the  woman  whom 
he  loved,  especially  as  she  was  another  man's  wife, 
should  object  to  his  liaison  with  "  a  poor  creature  " 
who  appealed  to  an  entirely  different  part  of  his 
nature.  And  the  idea  that  he  wronged  in  any  way 
"  the  poor  creature,"  by  placing  her  in  a  humiliating 
position  before  the  world,  does  not  seem  to  have  oc- 
curred to  him. 

This  new  relation  of  Goethe,  which  resulted  in  the 
birth  of  two  children,  one  of  whom  reached  man- 
hood, had  in  many  ways  an  unfortunate  effect  upon 
him.  It  alienated  him  from  some  of  his  friends, 
and  it  did  not  secure  him  that  freedom  from  obliga- 
tion and  immunity  from  care  which  he  regarded  as 
essential  to  his  self-development.  The  first  period 
of  cheerful  companionship,  after  the   manner  of  a 


1/2  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Greek  poet  with  his  hetsera,  Goethe  celebrated  in  a 
collection  of  poems,  classic  in  form  and  feeling,  en- 
titled "  Roman  Elegies."  But,  unhappily,  Chris- 
tine, who  had  inherited  a  taste  for  strong  drink, 
developed  in  the  course  of  years  habits  of  intem- 
perance which  caused  him  much  annoyance  and 
mortification.  And  what  was  worse,  Goethe's  hand- 
some and  promising  son,  August,  inherited  the 
curse,  and  died  prematurely  in  Rome  in  consequence 
of  a  debauch.  The  latter's  two  sons,  who  have  died 
within  the  last  decade,  had  apparently  more  of  the 
Vulpius  than  the  Goethe  strain  in  their  composition. 
They  remained  unmarried,  and  no  descendent  of 
Germany's  greatest  poet  is  now  surviving. 

Be  it  said,  however,  to  Goethe's  credit,  that  he 
bore  silently  and  patiently  his  domestic  cross,  and 
was  the  more  faithful  for  the  reason  that  she  needed 
his  forbearance,  and  because  no  legal  tie  bound  him 
to  her.  In  1806,  after  the  battle  of  Jena,  he  led  her 
to  the  altar,  although,  fearing  that  such  a  mesalli- 
ance might  prove  socially  detrimental  to  him,  she 
hesitated  to  accept  his  sacrifice.  When  she  died,  in 
1816,  he  was  deeply  affected,  nay,  gave  vent  to  his 
grief  with  a  vehemence  which  he  scarcely  exhibited 
on  any  other  occasion.  Though  she  had  never  been 
a  helpmeet  to  him,  in  the  sense  that  a  wife  of  higher 
attainments  might  have  been,  she  had,  on  the  other 
hand,  scarcely  interfered  with  his  development. 
The  very  fact  that  she  was  of  a  lower  social  station 
than  he,  made  her  unobtrusive,  and  she  never  dis- 
played any  vulgar  desire  to  assert  herself.    In  judg- 


GOETHE'S  RELATIONS  TO   WOMEN      173 

ing  of  the  relation  we  must  take  into  account  the 
laxity  of  the  age ;  for  no  man  can  be  judged  apart 
from  his  environment.  We  may  find  much  to  re- 
gret, some  things,  perhaps,  to  censure,  but  we  shall 
find  nothing  which  we  may  not  understand. 


THE  LIFE  AND  WORKS  OF 
SCHILLER. 


VII. 

THE  LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF 
SCHILLER. 

HEINE,  speaking  of  Lessing's  critics  and  antag- 
onists, compares  them  to  tin}'  insects  which 
were  caugiit  in  amber  while  it  was  yet  viscid  on  the 
tree,  and  thus  were  accidentally  immortalized. 
They  would  have  shared  the  fate  of  all  insect  exist- 
ences which  perish,  leaving  no  trace  behind  them,  if 
a  kindly  accident  (a  breath  of  air,  perhaps,  or  mere 
idle  curiosity)  had  not  induced  them  to  alight  upon 
an  imperishable  substance.  This  comparison  ap- 
plies, in  a  measure,  to  all  whom  chance,  kinship,  or 
common  interests  have  brought  into  intimate  con- 
tact with  the  life  of  a  great  man.  They  reap  an 
unsought  and  involuntary  immortality'.  They  be- 
come interesting  to  posterity,  not  for  any  excellence 
of  intellect  or  character  they  may  have  possessed, 
but  for  the  influence  they  have  exerted  upon  the 
great  man  and  the  relation  they  have  sustained  to 
him.  As  accessories  to  him,  their  personalities  have 
an  historic  value.  The  life  of  a  great  man  is  thus 
necessarily  a  gallery  of  more  or  less  significant  por- 
traits, all  of  which  become  conspicuous  only  by  the 


1/8  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

lustre  which  emanates  from  the  central  figure  of  the 
hero.  If  the  literary  historians  of  Germany  are  to 
be  believed,  the  number  of  commonplace  men  and 
women  who  have  deserved  to  become  embalmed  in 
the  memory  of  Schiller  is  very  great ;  but  a  little 
critical  insight  will  soon  enable  one  to  discriminate 
between  those  whose  lives  deeply  intersected  that 
of  the  poet,  and  those  who  merely  touched  it  at  the 
circumference. 

At  the  threshold  of  Schiller's  career  we  naturally 
encounter  the  faces  of  his  father  and  mother.  The 
former  had  commenced  life  as  a  barber,  then,  as 
was  not  unusual  in  those  days,  advanced  to  the  rank 
of  an  army  surgeon,  and  finally,  after  faithful  service 
in  the  War  of  the  Austiian  Succession,  was  bre- 
vetted  a  captain.  He  was  a  strictly  honorable  and 
upright  man,  ordinarily,  but  by  no  means  remark- 
ably endowed,  and  deeply  impregnated  with  that 
horror  of  the  fantastic  and  irregular  which  is  charac- 
teristic of  most  commonplace  men.  All  his  energies 
were  engrossed  in  the  struggle  for  daily  bread,  and 
he  had  very  little  patience  with  anyone  who  took 
a  loftier  view  of  existence  and  refused  to  subordi- 
nate its  higher  interests  to  the  one  all-absorbing 
question  of  gaining  a  livelihood.  At  the  close  of 
his  military  service  this  worthy  man,  who,  in  his 
limitations  as  well  as  his  excellences,  was  typically 
German,  became  superintendent  of  the  gai'dens  and 
nurseries  at  the  Duke  of  Wtirtemberg's  villas,  Soli- 
tude and  Ludwigsburg.  It  was  during  a  tempo- 
rary residence  of  his  parents  at  Marbach  that  the 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  SCHILLER      1 79 

poet  was  born,  November  10,  1759.  He  was  given 
the  names  of  Jobann  Cbristopb  Friedrich,  which 
were  a  combination  derived  from  the  maternal  as 
well  as  the  paternal  side  of  the  family.  He  was  a 
feeble  and  not  very  precocious  child,  although  of 
course  there  are  tales  from  his  childhood  which, 
in  the  light  of  later  events,  may  be  interpreted  as 
foreshadowing  future  greatness. 

His  mother,  of  course,  built  castles  in  the  air  for 
him  while  he  yet  lay  in  the  cradle,  and  as  she  knew 
no  more  exalted  position  than  that  of  a  clergyman, 
she  aspired,  like  the  Scotch  matron,  to  see  her  son 
some  day  "  wag  his  paw  in  a  pu'pit."  Thus  the  boy 
from  an  early  age  became  familiar  with  the  idea  that 
he  was  destined  for  the  church,  for  which  his 
dreamy  and  meditative  temperament  seemed  pe- 
culiai'ly  to  fit  him.  His  first  teacher  was  the  worthy 
Protestant  minister  Moser,  who  prepared  him  for  the 
Latin  School,  which  was  the  preliminary  step  for  en- 
tering a  university.  Schiller  proved  an  apt  pupil 
and  as  such  had  the  misfortune  to  attract  the  at- 
tention of  the  Duke  Karl  Eugen,  who  was  seeking 
recruits  for  a  military  academy  which  he  had  re- 
cently founded.  In  his  usual  despotic  manner  he 
frightened  Schiller's  father  into  accepting  his  bounty, 
ignoring  his  respectful  remonstrance,  and  pledging 
the  boy,  to  boot,  to  devote  his  life  to  the  service  of 
the  Ducal  House  of  Wtirteraberg.  Captain  Schiller 
had  by  this  time  a  large  family,  and,  being  depend- 
ent upon  the  duke  for  his  livelihood,  lacked  cour- 
age to  persist  in  his  opposition.     The  boy  was  thus 


l8o  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

forced  to  give  up  his  clerical  ambition,  and  to  confine 
liis  aspirations  to  the  professions  for  which  provis- 
ion was  made  in  the  curriculum  of  the  Ducal  Acad- 
emy, Schiller  selected  jurisprudence,  but  found 
this  study  so  little  to  his  taste  that,  after  a  brief 
trial,  he  asked  and  obtained  permission  to  change 
his  course  to  medicine. 

When  Schiller  was  sixteen  years  old  the  acad- 
emy was  removed  to  Stuttgart,  which  at  that  time 
again  became  the  capital  of  the  duchy  and  the  resi- 
dence of  the  duke.  His  Highness  had  some  years 
before  quarrelled  with  his  chief  city,  which  had 
openly  expressed  its  disapproval  of  his  dissolute 
life,  and  his  unscrupulous  methods  of  getting  money 
by  selling  his  subjects  to  fight  as  mercenaries 
against  liberty  in  the  New  World.  Now  it  suited 
His  Highness  to  forgive  this  monstrous  ingratitude, 
and  he  accordingly  returned,  with  his  beautiful 
mistress,  Franziska  von  Hoheuheim,  and  his  military 
academy,  to  Stuttgart.  To  the  great  detriment  of 
the  school,  he  chose  to  devote  much  of  his  time  to 
its  supervision.  He  enforced  the  most  rigid  military 
discipline,  gave  the  most  absurd  subjects  for  themes 
and  dissertations,  and  in  a  hundred  petty  ways  in- 
terfered with  the  influence  and  authority  of  the  pro- 
fessors. Schiller,  to  whom  this  machine-like  exist- 
ence was  utterly  repugnant,  sought  consolation  in  the 
study  of  Rousseau,  whose  revolutionary  daring  ap- 
pealed strongly  to  his  nature.  Goethe's  "  Sorrows 
of  Werther  "  also  fell  into  his  hands,  and  Wieland's 
translation  of  Shakespeare  inspired  him  with  an  ad- 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS  OF  SCHILLER      l8l 

miration  for  the  great  English  poet  which  he  never 
outlived.  The  discipline  of  the  academy  compelled 
him  to  pursue  these  studies  in  secret,  and  as  the 
liospital  ward  was  the  only  part  of  the  school-house 
where  a  candle  was  allowed  after  nine  o'clock, 
Schiller  had  himself  put  on  the  sick-list,  as  often  as 
he  dared,  in  order  to  be  able  to  enjoy  in  peace  the 
company  of  his  poetical  favorites.  The  grand 
thoughts  of  the  poets  began  to  resound  through  his 
mind  and  to  fill  him  with  indignant  defiance  against 
the  power  which,  without  consulting  his  own  Avish, 
forced  him  into  this  strait-jacket  of  military  disci- 
pline. He  yearned  to  break  his  fetters,  and  his  yearn- 
ing found  vent  in  a  drama  entitled  "  The  Robbers," 
which  he  composed  in  secret  and  secretly  declaimed 
in  remote  comers  of  the  large  building  to  delight- 
ed audiences  of  admiring  fellow-students.  In  the 
meanwhile  the  duke,  who  had  discovered  the  youth's 
poetic  ability,  sought  to  enlist  it  for  his  own  glorifi- 
cation and  that  of  his  mistress,  and  Schiller,  who 
knew  that  his  father's  livelihood  depended  upon  the 
good-will  of  the  duke,  felt  in  duty  bound  to  meet 
the  constant  requisitions  made  upon  his  reluctant 
muse.  He  sang  the  praises  of  Karl  Eugen  and 
Franziska  on  ducal  birthdays,  school  festivals,  and 
other  public  occasions,  and  extolled  their  virtues 
with  an  ardor  which  apparently  took  no  account  of 
the  ironical  effect  upon  the  audience. 

In  1780,  when  Schiller  was  twenty-one  years  old, 
he  was  graduated  from  the  Academy  and  received 
an  appointment  as  military  surgeon  in  the  army  of 


1 82  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

WUrtemberg,  with  a  monthly  salary  of  eighteen 
florins,  or  between  seven  and  eight  dollars  in  Ameri- 
can money.  His  parents,  who  had  expected  that  the 
duke  would  reward  magnificently  their  son's  obedi- 
ence and  his  ardent  official  eulogies,  could  hardly 
conceal  their  disappointment.  And  Schiller  him- 
self, who  was  all  this  time  meditating  revolt,  could 
not  have  had  much  scruple  in  preparing  for  the  press 
his  veiled  indictment  of  the  duke's  paternal  despot- 
ism, knowing,  as  he  did,  that  the  duke  had  chosen 
to  forget  his  promise  to  provide  a  lucrative  position  ; 
for  even  according  to  the  notions  of  those  days, 
eighteen  florins  a  month  barely  sufficed  to  support  a 
hand-to-hand  struggle  with  existence. 

Schiller's  first  tragedy,  "  The  Robbers,"  expresses 
the  revolt  of  a  powerful  nature  against  the  con- 
ventional reality  which  places  its  narrow  barriers, 
called  law  and  custom,  in  his  way  on  all  sides.  "  1 
loathe  this  ink-wasting  centur}',"  he  cries,  "  when  I 
read  in  my  Plutarch  of  great  men."  A  great  man, 
according  to  this  youthful  disciple  of  Rousseau, 
should  be  a  law  unto  himself.  Society  is  an'anged 
for  the  convenience  and  comfort  of  fools,  not  of  wise 
men  ;  of  pygmies,  not  of  giants.  A  giant  would  be 
justified  in  trampling  upon  the  laws  made  for  the 
guidance  of  pygmy  lives.  But  the  pygmies,  being 
so  much  more  numerous  than  the  giants,  are,  after 
all,  collectively  the  stronger,  and  by  their  petty 
needle-pricks  are  apt  to  harass  the  solitary  Titan, 
until  he  rises  in  wrath,  kicks  down  their  legal  hedges 
and  barriers,   and  wages  war  with  them  single- 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  SCHILLER      1 83 

handed.  In  otlier  words,  he  becomes,  according  to 
the  world's  ideas,  a  malefactor,  a  criminal.  But, 
according  to  Schiller,  it  is  society  that  is  chiefly  to 
blame,  not  the  Titan,  who  could  not  help  his  having 
been  made  on  a  larger  scale  than  the  rest.  This  is 
plainly  the  philosophy  of  Rousseau  adapted  to 
Schiller's  own  individual  case.  He  chafed  under 
the  rigid  discipline  in  the  school  which  imposed 
the  same  machine-like  routine  upon  several  hun- 
dred differently  constituted  youug  men,  taking  no 
account  of  their  individual  tastes,  talents,  or  tem- 
peraments. Amusing  as  the  parallel  is,  when  we 
consider  that  the  young  poet  declared  war  against 
civilization  because  the  school  discipline  disagreed 
with  him,  there  can  be  no  question  that  Karl  Moor 
becomes  a  heroic  robber,  murderer,  and  malefactor, 
because  Schiller  himself,  bound  by  considerations 
for  his  family,  dared  not  break  with  the  authorities 
which  oppressed  him.  Most  diverse  judgments  have 
been  pronounced  upon  this  youthful  play  by  literary 
authorities.  Matthew  Arnold  is  of  opinion  that  it  is 
*'  violent  and  tiresome,"  forming  thereby  a  contrast 
to  Goethe's  "  Gotz  von  Berlicbingen,"  which  is 
"  violent,  but  not  tiresome."  Wilbelm  Scherer  de- 
clares that  the  young  poet  shows  "  dramatic  talent 
of  the  first  order,"  but  makes  the  following  im- 
portant strictures  on  "  The  Robbers  : "  "  It  is  true 
that  he  lays  on  the  colors  too  thick,  that  he  fills  the 
dialogue  with  bombastic  exaggerations,  that  in  try- 
ing to  be  forcible  he  occasionally  lapses  into  coarse- 
ness, that  he  fails  to  make  the  connection  between 


1 84  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

action  and  character  sufficiently  apparent."  This  is 
all  perfectly  true  ;  but  the  fact  still  remains  that 
"  The  Bobbers "  manifests  power,  and  as  the  pro- 
duction of  a  mere  youth  who  had  not  reached  man- 
hood was  a  notable  performance.  It  contains  the 
embryonic  promise  of  a  great  poet. 

January  13,  1782,  "The  Robbers"  was  performed 
for  the  first  time  on  the  stage  at  Mannheim,  and 
proved  a  great  success.  The  author,  who  could  not 
resist  the  temptation  to  witness  the  representation, 
and  doubted  his  ability  to  obtain  a  furlough,  made 
the  journey  seci'etly  and  returned  home  the  next 
day,  intoxicated  with  delight.  A  second  time  he 
repeated  the  experiment,  but  the  breach  of  discipline 
■was  then,  owing  to  the  indiscretion  of  some  female 
friends,  brought  to  the  notice  of  the  duke,  who 
punished  him  with  a  fortnight's  arrest.  An  allusion 
in  the  drama,  of  an  uncomplimentary  character,  to 
the  Grisons  of  Switzei-land,  induced  some  foolishly 
zealous  patriot  to  make  a  complaint  to  Karl  Eugen, 
who  thei-eupon  forbade  Schiller  to  write  anything 
but  medical  treatises.  Schiller  promptly  responded 
by  handing  in  his  resignation,  or,  in  the  respectful 
language  then  in  vogue,  by  humbly  begging  to  be 
released  from  the  ducal  service.  The  petty  despot, 
however,  looked  upon  him  as  a  piece  of  personal 
property  and  refused  to  listen  to  his  repeated  prayers 
for  release,  until  the  sorely  harassed  poet  was  forced 
to  take  the  law  into  his  own  hands  and  seek  freedom 
in  flight.  September  17,  1782,  he  fled  to  Mannheim 
with  his  devoted  friend,  the  musician  Streicher. 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  SCHILLER      1 85 

Previous  to  his  fliglit,  Schiller  had  written  a  con- 
siderable number  of  lyrical  poems  which  he  collected 
in  a  volume  entitled  "  The  Anthology  for  the  Year 
1782,"  but  outside  of  the  narrow  circle  of  the  author's 
friends  the  book  failed  to  call  forth  any  enthusiasm. 
The  magnificent  daring  displayed  in  language  and 
imagery,  the  Titanic  defiance,  the  heaven-scaling 
idealism,  mixed  in  a  curious  alloy  with  coai-se  volup- 
tuousness, were  qualities  which  puzzled  the  com- 
monplace and  unenlightened  public  of  those  days, 
but  failed  to  arouse  any  lasting  interest  in  the  poet. 
As  a  financial  experiment  the  book  was  a  failure  and 
Schiller,  who  had  also  been  obliged  to  bear  the  ex- 
pense of  the  publication  of  "  The  Robbers,"  had 
gradually  become  involved  in  a  net  of  pecuniary 
obligations  from  which  he  could  not  extricate  him- 
self. His  father,  who  had  been  surety  for  the  pay- 
ment of  one  of  his  son's  loans,  grumbled  and  advised 
a  strict  attention  to  the  medical  business.  Under 
such  circumstances  Stuttgart  could  not  have  been 
an  agreeable  place  of  residence  for  him,  even  if  the 
duke  had  left  him  free  to  incur  further  debt  in  the 
pursuit  of  his  literary  avocation. 

On  his  ai'rival  in  Mannheim  he  submitted  a  new 
tragedy,  "  Fiesco,"  to  Baron  von  Dalberg,  who  was 
then  superintendent  of  the  theatre.  "Fiesco  "  bears 
the  sub-title,  "A  Republican  Tragedy,"  and  deals 
with  the  conspiracy  of  the  Genoese  noble  of  that 
name  against  the  tyrants  Andrea  and  Gianettino 
Doria.  It  is  a  decided  advance  upon  "  The  Robbers," 
being  clearer  though  hardly  less  violent  in  diction, 


1 86  GERMAN  LIT  ERA  TURE 

truer  in  its  characterization,  subtler  and  more  com- 
plex in  its  motifs  and  action.  For  all  that,  Dalberg 
pronounced  it  inferior  to  the  latter  drama,  and  Meyer, 
the  manager,  refused  for  a  while  to  believe  that  the 
same  author  could  have  produced  two  works  differ- 
ing so  widely  in  merit.  This  was  a  severe  disap- 
pointment to  Schiller,  who  had  founded  many  daring 
hopes  upon  the  anticipated  success  of  "Fiesco." 
Streicher,  too,  who  was  no  less  sanguine,  had  been 
advancing  him  money  for  his  support,  so  as  to  enable 
him  to  continue  to  produce  great  works,  and  it  had 
hardly  entered  into  his  calculations  that  booksellers 
and  managers  should  not  be  eager  for  the  master- 
pieces, as  soon  as  they  were  offered  to  them.  The 
generous  fellow  had  now  actually  emptied  his  slender 
purse,  and  his  friend  was  unable  to  repay  his  loans. 
Another  trouble  which  seems  to  have  caused  Schiller 
less  anxiety  than  it  did  his  friends  was  the  hostility 
of  the  Duke  of  Wiirtemberg  who  looked  upon  the 
poet's  independence  as  an  insult  to  his  own  majesty. 
Undoubtedly  some  danger  existed,  and  Schiller  was 
wise  in  finally  heeding  the  advice  of  Frau  von 
Wolzogen,  his  early  patroness  and  the  mother  of 
one  of  his  schoolmates,  who  offered  him  a  safe  hiding- 
place  on  her  estate,  Bauerbach,  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Meiningen.  In  December,  1782,  he  separated 
from  Streicher  and  under  an  assumed  name  marched 
from  town  to  town  until  he  reached  his  new  home. 
Negotiations  in  the  meanwhile  were  continued,  and 
Dalberg,  who  availed  himself  in  an  ungenerous 
manner  of  Schiller's  poverty,  and  offered  him  the 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  SCHILLER      1 87 

most  foolish  literary  advice,  finally  concluded  to  ac- 
cept "  Fiesco,"  provided  it  were  changed  so  as  to 
suit  His  Excellency's  taste.  The  author  was  hardly 
in  a  condition  to  dictate  his  terms,  and  he  therefore 
abjectly,  though  with  inward  rebellion,  ruined  his 
play  by  substituting  a  cheerful  and  commonplace 
ending  for  the  tragic  one  which  the  situation  and  the 
design  of  the  characters,  by  a  psychological  neces- 
sity, demanded.  The  edition,  however,  which  he 
prepared  for  the  press  and  which  was  published  by 
Sell  wan,  in  Mannheim,  retained  the  original  con- 
clusion. 

Dui'ing  his  stay  at  Bauerbach  (from  December, 
1782-July,  1783)  Schiller  labored  indefatigably 
upon  a  new  drama,  "  Louise  Millerin,"  which  he  had 
commenced  before  his  departure  from  Mannheim  ; 
and  moreover  occupied  himself  earnestly  with  his- 
torical studies  which  he  expected  to  utilize  for  his 
historical  tragedy,  "Don  Carlos."  Frau  von  Wolzo- 
gen  and  her  daughter  Lotte  made  occasional  visits 
to  the  estate  and  cheered  him  by  their  kindly 
interest  and  criticism.  Nevertheless  he  was  not 
happy.  He  had  the  misfortune  to  fall  in  love,  or 
to  believe  himself  in  love,  with  the  daughter  of  his 
hostess,  and  his  prospects  were  not  at  that  time  so 
brilliant  as  to  warrant  any  mother,  and  especially  one 
of  noble  blood,  in  encouraging  his  matrimonial  aspi- 
rations. It  may  have  been  his  ill  success  as  a  lover, 
and  the  expectation  of  finding  higher  favor  in  his 
courtship  of  the  Muse,  which  hastened  his  acceptance 
of  Dalberg's  proposition  to  make  him  "  poet  of  the 


1 88  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

theatre  "  (Theaterdichter),  with  an  annual  salary  of 
three  hundred  florins.  He  engaged  to  write  at  least 
three  dramas  a  year,  and  gave  the  Mannheim  stage 
the  right  to  bring  them  out,  reserving  for  himself 
the  copyright  on  the  printed  editions. 

Schiller's  second  sojourn  in  Mannheim  proved  a 
most  unfortunate  one.  But  a  short  time  after  his 
arrival  he  had  a  severe  attack  of  malarial  fever,  which 
he  succeeded  in  keeping  at  bay  only  by  consuming 
an  incredible  amount  of  quinine.  The  summer  of 
1783  was  unusually  hot  and  oppressive,  and  the  rates 
of  mortality  in  the  city  indicated  a  veritable  malarial 
epidemic.  Schiller  worked  incessantly,  because  be 
could  not  afford  to  be  ill ;  but  the  consequences  of 
this  reckless  neglect  of  all  laws  of  health  were  felt 
throughout  the  rest  of  his  life,  which  was  henceforth 
a  perpetual  struggle  with  disease.  The  "  civic,"  or 
perhaps  rather  "bourgeois,"  tragedy,  "Louise  Mil- 
lerin,"  which  the  actor  Iffland  named  "Love  and  In- 
trigue," was  now  completed  and  had  the  good 
fortune  to  gain  the  approval  of  the  distinguished 
Dalberg.  The  mutilated  edition  of  "Fiesco"  was 
also  put  upon  the  boards,  but  failed  to  arouse  the 
enthusiasm  of  the  Mannheim  public,  while  "Love 
and  Intrigue,"  in  spite  of  the  more  or  less  qualified 
condemnation  of  literary  critics,  was  from  the  begin- 
ning a  pronounced  success ;  and  it  speaks  well  for 
the  vitality  of  Schiller's  genius  that  both  these  youth- 
ful plays,  not  to  mention  his  later  dramatic  master- 
pieces, have  been  able  to  keep  their  places  upon  the 
stage  and  in  the  hearts  of  the  people  even  to  the 


THE  LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  SCHILLER      189 

present  day.  "  Love  and  Intrigue "  deals  with  a 
problem  which  has  been  a  favorite  one  with  the 
di'amutists  and  romancers  of  all  times,  viz.,  the  piob- 
lem  of  caste.  Where  the  hearts  are  di-awn  together 
and  the  difference  in  social  position  divides  the 
lovers,  there  are  but  two  alternatives  possible  :  either 
the  party  who  has  the  advantage  in  point  of  birth 
must  be  sufficiently  heroic  to  ignore  his  conventional 
superiority  and  conquer  the  difficulties  which  it 
places  in  his  way,  or  renunciation,  separation,  and 
death  will  be  the  requisite  denouement.  A  dishonor- 
able union,  to  be  sure,  lies  within  the  pale  of  possi- 
bility, but  this  alternative  is  excluded  by  the  high 
and  virtuous  character  of  the  lovers  in  Schiller's 
tragedy.  Ferdinand,  the  nobleman,  and  Louise,  the 
poor  musician's  daughter,  therefore  die,  and  their 
death  is  intended  by  the  author  as  a  protest  against 
the  unjust  and  artificial  order  of  society  which  fur- 
nishes the  upper  classes  with  facilities  for  preying 
upon  the  lower,  without  providing  the  latter  with 
the  necessary  weapons  for  self-defence. 

"  Love  and  Intrigue "  is  dramatically  a  gi'eat 
advance  upon  its  predecessors.  The  characteriza- 
tion of  the  old  musician  Miller  and  his  daughter  is 
as  good  as  anything  Schiller  has  produced  in  the 
same  line.  But  he  knows  low  life  far  better  than 
high  life.  In  dealing  with  the  former  he  shows  ob- 
servation and  intiiuute  acquaintance  ;  in  dealing  with 
the  latter  he  i-eproduces  the  sort  of  gossip  which 
circulates  among  the  bourgeoisie  concerning  the 
dazzling  wickedness  of  the  great.     There  is  a  burn- 


I  go  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

ing  wrath  in  his  political  satire  which  sees  with  in- 
tensity, but  through  a  magnifying  and  distorting 
lens.  Lessing  had  dealt  with  the  same  theme  in 
"  Emilia  Galotti,"  but  his  wicked  prince  had  satirized 
German  conditions  under  an  Italian  mask.  Schiller 
was  bolder.  He  calls  a  spade  a  spade,  and  lashes 
the  dissoluteness  and  fathomless  corruption  of  the 
small  courts  with  the  energy  of  scorn  and  hate.  It 
is  said  that  nearly  all  the  characters  of  "  Love  and 
Intrigue  "  Avere  drawn  from  originals  at  the  court  of 
Wiirtemberg. 

Schiller's  position  in  Mannheim  was  full  of  em- 
barrassments and  troubles.  The  literary  profession 
was  hardly  at  that  time  recognized  as  a  legitimate 
one,  and  the  court  calendar  assigned  no  definite 
rank  in  the  social  scale  to  a  dramatic  poet.  Dalberg, 
to  be  sure,  occasionally  invited  Schiller  to  dinner, 
and  the  bookseller  Schwan,  who  was  an  important 
citizen  in  the  town,  freely  opened  his  house  to  him. 
But  when  Schiller  presumed  to  aspire  to  the  position 
of  a  son-in-law,  the  prudent  bookseller,  doubting 
his  ability  to  earn  a  livelihood,  politely  declined  to 
entertain  his  proposition.  It  was  not,  however, 
until  after  the  poet's  departure  from  Mannheim  that 
he  applied  for  the  hand  of  Margaret  Schwan,  and 
it  is  not  positively  known  whether  the  question  of 
accepting  or  refusing  him  was  ever  submitted  to  the 
lady  whom  it  primarily  concerned.  Fathei^s  in  those 
days  were  apt  to  decide  such  questions  on  economic 
grounds,  and  quite  without  reference  to  their  daugh- 
ters' preferences.     Another  lady  whom  Schiller  met 


THE  LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  SCHILLER      191 

in  Mannheim,  and  who  soon  eclipsed  all  his  former 
loves,  was  Charlotte  von  Kalb,  the  wife  of  a  Major 
von  Kalb  who  was  garrisoned  in  the  neighboring 
town  of  Landau.  Frau  von  Kalb  was  one  of  those 
restless  and  passionate  women  who  are  always  hunger- 
ing for  an  unattainable  happiness.  She  had  been 
forced  to  marry  a  man  for  whom  she  had  never  pro- 
fessed a  spark  of  aifection,  and  when  Schiller  with 
his  daring  ideas  and  ardent  unrest  approached  her, 
she  recognized  in  him  a  kindred  soul  and  allowed 
him  to  conjecture  the  enthusiastic  regard  which  she 
cherished  for  him.  And  this,  even  before  their  first 
separation,  ripened  into  an  affection  which  was 
fi'eely  confessed  on  the  part  of  both.  Nevertheless, 
Schiller's  poverty  and  his  inability  to  fulfil  his  con- 
tract with  Dalberg,  who  imagined  that  dramas  could 
be  manufactured  like  clocks,  tended  to  increase  his 
discontent  and  to  make  him  look  about  for  a  possible 
amelioration  of  his  circumstances.  As  he  knew  from 
hints  that  Dalberg  would  not  desire  the  renewal  of 
their  contract  for  another  year,  he  made  haste  to 
resign  his  position  as  *'  poet  of  the  theatre,"  and  as 
a  desperate  makeshift  founded  a  bi-monthly  litemry 
and  theatrical  journal  entitled  The  lihenish  Thalia, 
It  is  difficult  to  believe  that  he  could  have  been 
sanguine  of  success  for  this  enterprise,  for  although 
the  prospectus  promised  much,  and  the  first  num- 
bers in  tone  and  ability  excelled  all  contemporaries 
of  similar  scope  and  character,  it  must  have  been 
evident  to  the  editor,  who  had  had  opportunities 
for  knowing  the  intellectual  condition  of  his  South 


192  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

German  countrymen,  that  the  ver^'  excellence  and 
impartiality  of  his  reviews  would  prove  a  hindrance 
to  the  success  of  his  journal.  The  pubHc  had  not 
yet  been  educated  up  to  the  stage  where  they 
could  enjoy  a  refined  and  unsensational  style  and 
keen  critical  sagacity.  Cruder  means  were  required 
to  enlist  their  interest  and  approval. 

In  April,  1785,  Schiller  left  Mannheim.  In  Darm- 
stadt he  read  a  part  of  "  Don  Carlos  "  to  the  Duke 
of  Weimar,  Karl  August,  who  as  Goethe's  friend  had 
gained  the  reputation  of  a  German  Mecsenas.  His 
Highness  was  pleased  to  praise  the  drama,  and  in 
recognition  of  the  author's  ability  sent  him  the  fol- 
lowing day  an  honorary  title  as  ducal  court  counsel- 
lor. But  as  such  a  title  would  be  of  no  avail  pe- 
cuniarily, Schiller  betook  himself  to  Leipsic,  whei-e 
his  friends  Korner  and  Huber  and  the  sisters  Dora 
and  Minna  Stock  gave  him  a  hearty  reception.  These 
excellent  people  had  previously  made  his  acquaint- 
ance by  letter,  and  Korner  had  even  advanced  him 
money  and  warmly  expressed  his  admiration  of  his 
poetic  genius.  His  subsequent  removal  to  Dresden 
attracted  Schiller  also  to  the  Saxon  capital,  where, 
as  a  guest  in  Korner's  house,  he  completed  the 
tragedy  "Don  Carlos,"  besides  writing  a  noveUstic 
fragment,  "The  Ghost  Seer  "  ("Der Geisterseher"), 
and  several  poems  full  of  daring  thought  and 
splendid  imagery. 

"  Don  Carlos "  is  the  first  of  Schiller's  dramas 
which  is  wiitten  in  blank  verse.  It  deals  with  the 
love  of  Carlos,  the  son  of  Philip  II.  of  Spain,  for  his 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  SCHILLER      1 93 

young  stepmother,  Elizabeth  of  Valois,  who  hail  been 
engaged  to  him  before  his  father  married  her.  The 
real  hero,  however,  is  not  Don  Carlos,  but  his  friend, 
Marquis  Posa,  who  is  a  personification  of  all  those 
qualities  which  Schiller  especially  respected  in  him- 
self. His  political  idealism,  his  self-sacrificing  devo- 
tion, his  humanitarian  spirit,  and  his  cosmopolitan- 
ism have  all  found  their  noblest  expression  in  this 
fearless  and  generous  Spaniard.  It  has  frequently 
been  asserted  of  Schiller  that  he  had  the  stuflf  in 
him  not  only  for  a  great  poet,  but  also  for  a  great 
statesman  and  politician.  The  character  of  Posa 
indicates  what  kind  of  a  statesman  he  would  have 
made,  and  settles  also  the  fact  that  he  would  have 
ended  his  life  in  a  dungeon.  Posas  were  not  toler- 
ated in  Germany  in  those  days,  nor  are  they  now. 
The  only  land  in  the  world  where  a  political  career 
would  perhaps  have  been  open  to  a  man  of  Schiller's 
calibre  is  England. 

During  his  residence  in  Dresden  the  poet  made 
the  acquaintance  of  a  dazzling  coquette  named 
Henriette  von  Arnim,  and  if  we  are  to  interpret 
literally  his  verses  in  the  lady's  autograph  album, 
he  placed  his  hand  and  his  heart  at  her  disposal. 
He  squandered  his  money  in  making  her  costly 
presents,  neglected  his  work,  and  earned  the  dis- 
pleasure of  his  friends.  He  was  acutely  conscious 
of  his  dependence  upon  Korner,  and  their  relation, 
which  had  been  of  mutual  benefit  as  long  as  their 
confidence  in  each  other  had  been  complete,  began 
to  grow  oppressive  to  Schiller,  as  soon  as  he  sus- 
'    13 


194  GERM  AM  LITERATURE 

pected  that  his  friend  disapproved  of  his  conduct. 
Moreover,  he  was  so  inextricably  entangled  in  Frau- 
lein  von  Arnim's  toils  that  he  saw  no  possibility  of 
regaining  his  reason  except  by  avoiding  her  pres- 
ence. An  invitation  from  Frau  von  Kalb,  who  had 
recently  removed  to  Weimar,  furnished  him  with  a 
convenient  excuse  for  taking  his  departure,  and  no 
sooner  had  he  arrived  in  the  capital  of  the  little 
duchy  (July,  1787)  than  his  old  love  again  took 
possession  of  him.  There  is  thus  no  argument 
needed  to  prove  that,  with  all  his  stanch  qualities 
of  mind  and  heart,  his  affections  in  his  early  youth 
were  of  an  extremely  volatile  kind.  Like  most  poets, 
he  loved  easily  and  forgot  easily,  and  the  ardor 
enkindled  by  love  he  expended  in  song. 

The  dramatic  ti-eatment  of  a  historic  subject  in 
"  Don  Carlos "  had  aroused  Schiller's  interest  in 
historical  studies.  Especially  did  he  feel  attracted 
to  the  history  of  nations  which  had  made  a  heroic 
struggle  for  liberty.  In  his  tragedy  he  had  had  oc- 
casion to  introduce  incidentally  the  revolt  of  the 
Netherlands  against  the  tyranny  of  Philip  11.,  and  he 
now  returned  to  this  subject  and  wrote  his  "History 
of  the  Revolt  of  the  Netherlands."  This  work, 
although  it  is  now  the  fashion  among  Gei-man 
scholars  to  sneer  at  it,  is  undeniably  an  advance 
upon  all  previous  historical  writing  done  in  Ger- 
many. It  cannot  boast  the  minute  accuracy  of  de- 
tails, nor  the  vast  accumulation  of  original  learning 
Avhich  distinguish  the  histories  of  Monnnsen,  Cur- 
tius,  and  von  Rauke,  but  it  possesses  a  vital  or- 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  SCHILLER      1 95 

ganic  coherence,  and  is  inspired  with  an  ardent 
enthusiasm  for  liberty  and  human  rights  which  at 
once  make  the  reader's  heart  beat  sympathetically 
with  that  of  the  author.  The  faults  of  the  work  are 
a  tendency  to  rhapsody  and  declamation,  and  a  dis- 
position to  hide  deficiencies  in  scholarship  under  a 
cloak  of  sonorous  rhetoric.  But  it  taught  the  Ger- 
mans for  the  first  time  that  scholai'ship  and  dulness 
are  not  identical,  or,  at  all  events,  that  brilliancy  of 
style  is  not  incompatible  with  learning.  For  all  that, 
it  would  not  be  safe  for  an  historian  to  take  Schiller 
for  his  model ;  for  though  he  does  not  "  draw  upon 
his  imagination  for  his  facts,"  he  does  occasionally 
heighten  the  color  and  dramatic  effect  of  his  narra- 
tive in  a  manner  which  is  more  conducive  to  enter- 
tainment than  to  accuracy.  There  is  a  poetic  afflatus 
and  a  rhetorical  flow  in  his  sentences  which  carry 
the  reader  along  and  make  him  forget  that  he  is  en- 
gaged in  scholarly  toil.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  not 
to  be  denied  that  his  poetic  divination  enables  him 
to  penetrate  more  deeply  into  the  fundamental  mo- 
tives and  characters  of  historic  personages  than  even 
a  Mommseu  or  a  Curtius.  The  portraits  of  Philip 
IL,  the  Duke  of  Alva,  and  Count  Egmont  are  pos- 
sibly more  brilliant  than  true ;  but  they  are  em- 
phatically alive,  and  impress  themselves  indelibly 
upon  the  memory, 

"  The  History  of  the  Eevolt  of  the  Netherlands," 
whatever  its  faults,  proves  that  the  novelist's  art 
may,  with  certain  limitations,  be  profitably  em- 
ployed by  the  historian — a  proposition  which,  sev- 


196  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

enty  years  later,  was  demonstrated  once  more  by 
Gustav  Freytag  in  his  "Bilder  aus  der  deutscheu 
Vergangenheit. " 

Schiller  had  anticipated  great  pleasure  and  profit 
from  his  association  with  Goethe,  who  at  the  time 
of  his  ari'ival  was  still  absent  on  his  Italian  journey. 
When  finally  they  met  in  September,  1788,  the 
younger  poet  was  bitterly  disappointed  at  the  cool- 
ness and  the  rigid  and  stately  manner  of  the  elder, 
and  abandoned  all  hope  of  ever  approaching  him. 
The  fact  was,  Goethe  looked  upon  Schiller  as  the 
head  of  the  "  Storm  and  Stress,"  a  violent  and  de- 
clamatory school,  to  which  he  had  himself  once  be- 
longed, but  the  influence  of  which  he  now  regarded 
as  pernicious.  He  had  no  antipathy  to  Schiller  as  a 
man,  but  feared,  perhaps,  that  the  kind  of  emotional 
debauchery  which  characterized  "  The  Robbers," 
and  Schiller's  early  lyrics,  might,  with  the  author's 
personal  presence,  invade  the  circles  which  he  was 
endeavoring  to  educate  up  to  his  own  classical 
standard.  In  view  of  this  half-acknowledged  senti- 
ment oil  Goethe's  part,  some  of  his  biographers 
have  asserted  that  he  recommended  Schiller's  ap- 
pointment to  a  professorship  of  history  at  the  Uni- 
versity of  Jena,  merely  because  he  wished  to  have 
him  removed  from  his  own  neighborhood.  How- 
ever, this  is  a  mere  conjecture,  and  it  is  sure  that 
Schiller,  when  he  accepted  the  unprofitable  appoint- 
ment, had  no  suspicion  that  he  owed  it  to  anything 
but  his  own  recently-earned  reputation  as  a  popular 
historian.     He   accordingly  removed  to  Jena   and 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  SCHILLER      1 97 

entered  with  many  misgivings  upon  his  career  as  an 
academical  teacher.  There  was  no  fixed  salary  at- 
tached to  the  position,  and  the  fees  which  the  profes- 
sors were  authorized  to  collect  from  their  students 
amounted  in  Schiller's  case  to  such  a  trifling  sum 
that  he  could  not  rid  himself  of  the  feeling  that  his 
time  and  labor  were  very  poorly  invested.  The 
Duke  of  Weimar,  however,  perceiving  his  value  to 
the  University,  granted  him  an  annual  pension  of 
two  hundred  thalers,  or  about  one  hundred  and  fifty 
dollars.  Before  this  fortunate  event  occurred,  he 
had  made  the  acquaintance  of  Charlotte  von  Lenge- 
feld,  a  young  lady  of  noble  birth,  who  lived  with  her 
mother  and  sister  on  a  small  estate  near  the  village 
of  Rudolfstadt.  Lotte  was  a  charming  mixture  of 
common  sense  and  romantic  sentiment.  She  had 
read  much  in  an  innocent  and  uncritical  fashion, 
and  could  discourse  naively  on  Homer  and  ^scliy- 
lus,  whom  she  had  studied  in  German  and  Fi-ench 
translations.  She  even  adopts  occasionally  in  her 
correspondence  with  Schiller  a  jocosely  Homeric 
tone,  which  is  scarcely  less  delightful  to  the  modern 
reader  than  it  must  have  been  to  her  adorer.  The 
book  containing  those  of  their  letters  which  have 
been  preserved  affords  a  deeper  insight  into  the 
character  of  both  than  all  the  collected  biographies, 
and  gives,  moreover,  a  vivid  picture  of  life  in  a 
country  nobleman's  family  in  the  last  century.  It 
is  one  of  the  freshest  and  most  enjoyable  biographi- 
cal documents  of  the  period. 

It  has  been  generally  supposed  that  Lotte 's  elder 


198  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

sister,  Caroline  von  Lengefeld,  who  married  a  noble- 
man named  von  Beulwitz,  from  whom  she  was  later 
separated,  was  more  than  half  in  love  with  Schiller, 
and  that  Schiller  returned  her  affection  with  an  in- 
tellectual admiration  which  possibly  she  misinter- 
preted in  accordance  with  her  own  wishes.  Caro- 
line, in  consequence  of  her  matrimonial  infelicity, 
was  a  restless  and  discontented  woman  who  always 
imagined  herself  misunderstood,  and  found  for  the 
first  time  in  Schiller  a  man  who  could  recognize  the 
possibilities  of  her  nature.  Being  herself  bound, 
she  favored  in  every  way  Schiller's  courtship  of  her 
sister,  whom  he  married  in  February,  1790.  The 
new  relation  into  which  he  had  thus  entered  neces- 
sitated an  explanation  of  some  kind  with  Frau  von 
Kalb,  who  was  just  contemplating  a  separation  from 
her  husband.  Schiller's  marriage  was  therefore  a 
great  blow  to  her,  and  she  refused  to  listen  to  his 
excuses.  Their  interview  was  a  stormy  one,  and  for 
several  years  they  never  saw  each  other.  But  when 
Frau  von  Kalb,  in  the  course  of  time,  discovered 
a  new  ideal  in  Jean  Paul  Kichter,  she  consented  to 
forgive  Schiller  for  his  desertion. 

While  retaining  his  professorship  in  Jena  Schiller 
was  chiefly  engaged  upon  historical  writings  and  com- 
pilations. He  wi-ote  a  "  History  of  the  Thirty  Years' 
War,"  which  appeared  first  in  the  "  Historical  Cal- 
endar for  Ladies,"  and  excited  universal  admiration. 
There  were  a  stateliness  and  dignity  in  his  style 
which  had  the  effect  of  novelty  in  Germany,  where 
learned  tradition  required  that  all  serious  subjects 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS  OF  SCHILLER      1 99 

should  be  treated  in  a  drylj  pedantic  and  dogmatical 
manner.  The  characterizations  of  Gustavus  Adol- 
phus,  and  of  Wallenstein,  too,  gave  evidence  of  a 
rare  combination  of  gifts,  showing,  as  they  did,  a 
scholarly  refinement  joined  to  a  happ}'  psychological 
divination  which  revealed  the  great  poet. 

Schiller,  however,  was  not  in  a  condition  to  con- 
tinue this  laborious  work,  the  profit  of  which  was 
disproportionate  to  the  strength  and  energy  ex- 
pended. It  is  said  that  during  his  residence  in  Jeua 
be  was  occupied  fourteen  hours  daily  in  writing 
and  lecturing.  He  was  eager  to  pay  off  the  debts 
contracted  in  his  youth,  and  to  provide  a  comfort- 
able home  for  his  young  wife  ;  and  he  refused  to 
consider  the  circumstance  that  his  physical  frame 
was  feeble  and  had  been  weakened  by  a  former  ill- 
ness, from  which  he  had  never  completely  recovered. 
In  the  winter  of  1790-91  he  had  a  severe  attack  of 
rheumatic  fever,  followed  by  spasms  and  nervous 
prostration,  and  the  physicians  ordered  him  to  the 
baths  of  Carlsbad,  whither  he  repaired  during  the 
following  summer.  Korner  offered  to  defray  the  ex- 
penses of  the  whole  journey,  but  Schiller,  who  feared 
that  he  would  not  live  long  enough  to  repay  all  that 
he  already  owed  his  friend,  refused  to  consider  the 
proposition.  When,  however,  the  Duke  of  Augnsten- 
borg  and  the  Danish  Count  Schimmelmann  offered 
him  an  annual  pension  of  one  thousand  thalei*s  for 
three  years,  he  was  moved  by  regard  for  his  family 
to  accept  with  gratitude.  He  could  thus,  in  the 
midst  of  all  his  sufferings,  labor  with  comparative 


20O  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

cheerfulness,  and  devote  Lis  maturest  judgment 
and  creative  strength  to  the  composition  of  the  great 
tragedy  upon  which  he  would  be  content  to  rest  his 
fame.  But  while  '*  Wallenstein  "  was  yet  in  an  em- 
bryonic condition,  several  journalistic  enterprises 
engaged  Schiller's  attention,  and  one  of  them,  "  Die 
Horen  "  (The  Horse,  The  Hours),  had  the  important 
effect  of  bringing  him  into  closer  contact  with 
Goethe.  When  issuing  the  prospectus  of  the  new 
periodical,  Schiller  addressed  a  business  letter  to  his 
rival  in  Weimar,  requesting  permission  to  include 
his  name  among  his  contributors.  Goethe  sent  a 
somewhat  stiff  but  yet  favorable  response  ;  and  thus 
the  ice  was  broken,  and  the  two  great  men  began 
to  discover  each  other's  worth.  Within  a  year  they 
were  on  visiting  terms,  and  the  relation  thus  happily 
commenced  soon  idpened  into  a  generous  and  de- 
voted friendship.  In  the  year  1797  they  presented 
in  their  "  Xenien  "  a  common  front  against  their  lit- 
erary enemies,  and  their  satirical  epigrams,  for  which 
they  agi-eed  to  bear  the  joint  responsibility,  made  a 
great  havoc  in  the  camp  of  their  opponents.  The 
classic  ideal  which  Goethe  was  approaching  Schiller 
had  independently  discovered,  and  in  his  "  Gods  of 
Greece,"  a  beautiful  elegy  on  the  Greek  civilization, 
had  shed  a  poetic  tear  on  the  tombs  of  "  the  radiant 
immortals."  In  the  year  1797,  an  ambition  to  write 
ballads,  perfect  in  form  and  sentiment,  took  posses- 
sion of  both,  and  in  generous  rivalry  each  strove 
to  outdo  the  other.  The  result  of  this  competition 
was  a  series  of  excellent  poems  which  appeared  in 


THE  LIFE  AND   WORKS  OF  SCHILLER     201 

the  "  Almanac  of  the  Muses,"  an  annual  publication 
which  was  issued  about  the  beginning  of  the  year 
under  Schiller's  editorship.  His  first  periodical, 
"  The  Ehenish  Thalia,"  he  had  abandoned  in  1793, 
"  The  Horse  "  struggled  through  four  years  of  pre- 
carious existence,  and  "  The  Almanac  of  the  Muses," 
although  full  of  ability,  could  not  protract  its  lease  of 
life  beyond  the  year  1800  ;  while  a  chatty  and  easy- 
going journal  like  Wieland's  "German  Mercury," 
whose  cheerful  mediocrity  appealed  to  the  average 
uncultured  public,  enjoyed  prosperity,  Schiller, 
however,  refused  to  be  discouraged  by  the  slight 
success  of  his  entei-prises,  but  congratulated  himself, 
when  the  last  number  of  the  "  Almanac  "  had  gone 
to  press,  that  henceforth  he  would  at  all  events  have 
nothing  to  do  with  any  worse  poet  than  himself. 
Among  the  poems,  dating  from  this  period,  which 
have  become  especially  and  deservedly  popular,  we 
might  mention  "  The  Cranes  of  Ibycus,"  "The  Song 
of  the  Bell,"  "  The  Walk,"  "  The  Fight  with  the 
Dragon,"  and  "The  Diver." 

The  trilogy  of  "  Wallenstein,"  consisting  of  "  Wal- 
lenstein's  Camp,"  "The  Piccolomini,"and  "  Wallen- 
stein's  Death,"  was  completed  in  1799  and  published 
the  following  year.  It  is,  if  we  except  the  First  Part 
of  "  Faust,"  the  greatest  tragedy  written  in  the  Ger- 
man language,  even  though  it  may  not  merit 
Goethe's  encomium  :  "  The  work  is  so  great  that 
there  exists  no  equal  to  it."  "  Wallen stein's  Camp  " 
is  a  mere  prologue  which  illustrates  the  fanatical 
faith  of  the  troops  in  their  leader,  and  reproduces. 


202  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

with  admirable  subtlety,  the  moral  atmosphere  of 
the  camp.  "  The  Piccolomini  "  introduces  us  to  the 
officers  whom  Wallenstein,  by  various  means,  has 
succeeded  in  attaching  to  his  person.  Questenberg, 
the  impeiial  envoy,  arrives,  and  attempts  to  induce 
them  to  desert,  or  rather  to  join  in  a  plot  against  the 
general  in  his  own  camp.  The  various  types  of  of- 
ficers are  depicted  with  originality  and  force.  Tlie 
bluff  and  vehement  Butler,  the  deceitful  and  ambi- 
tious Terzky,  the  brave  and  honorable  Max  Picco- 
lomini, the  time-serving  lUo,  who  is  too  shrewd  to 
understand  a  generous  motive — all  show  the  mas- 
tev-hand  of  a  great  poet.  The  manner  in  which  Wal- 
lenstein's  astrological  superstition  is  utilized  also 
betrays  a  rare  subtletj'  of  conception.  The  stars  en- 
courage all  his  ambitious  hopes,  and  induce  him  to 
dally  with  the  thought  of  treason  long  befoi'e  he  has 
taken  any  definite  resolve.  And  in  all  probability 
this  resolve  would  never  have  been  taken  if  the  cir- 
cumstances, brought  about  by  his  fanatical  delusion, 
had  not  compelled  him  to  carry  out  a  criminal  de- 
sign which  he  had  never  fully  matured.  In  his  ex- 
treme cunning,  too,  Wallenstein  becomes  the  victim 
of  his  own  deception.  He  induces  the  Emperor's 
minister  to  insult  Butler  in  order  to  attach  him  the 
more  firmly  to  himself.  But  when  Butler  is  in- 
formed by  Octavio  that  Wallenstein  is  the  real  au- 
thor of  the  insult,  all  his  wrath  turns  against  the 
latter,  whom,  in  the  last  act  of  the  trilogy,  he 
murders.  The  vengeance  which  Wallenstein  had 
aroused,  and  intended  to  profit  by,  thus  becomes 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  SCHILLER      203 

his  own  destroyer.  The  sub-intrigue  with  Max  Pic- 
coloraini  and  Wallenstein's  daughter  Thekla,  is  of 
minor  importance,  although  it  reheves  the  uncom- 
promising sternness  of  the  tragedy,  and  invests  it 
with  a  pathos  which  adds  to  its  eifectiveness  on  the 
stage. 

Schiller's  next  drama,  "  Mary  Stuart,"  was  begun 
in  Jena,  but  was  not  completed  until  June,  1800.  He 
had  then  resigned  his  professorship  and  removed  to 
Weimar,  where  he  could  devote  himself  exclusively 
to  his  literary  profession.  The  duke,  in  the  mean- 
while, had  raised  his  annual  pension  to  four  hundred 
thalers  without  demanding  the  continuance  of  his 
academical  labors.  He  could  now  live  in  constant 
association  with  Goethe,  who,  with  every  year,  grew 
to  value  him  more  highly,  and  he  could  devote  his 
best  energies  to  the  work  which  he  loved.  If  his 
health  had  not  been  so  miserable,  this  would  have 
been  the  happiest  period  in  his  life.  His  wife,  who 
loved  him  dearly,  was  also  his  intellectual  com- 
panion, and  felt  an  honest  pride  in  his  fame  and  his 
great  achievements.  Children  were  growing  up 
about  him,  and  he  plotted  their  future  with  all  the 
hopefulness  of  a  fond  parent. 

"  Mary  Stuart "  deals  with  the  last  years  of  the  life 
of  the  ill-starred  Queen  of  Scots.  Schiller  wishes 
to  show  the  exaltation  of  noble,  though  not  unmer- 
ited, suffering.  He  appeals  wholly  to  our  feelings 
without  troubling  himself  much  about  the  question 
whether  our  reason  can  approve  the  verdict  of  our 
hearts.     Mary  admits  that  she  was  an  accomplice  to 


204  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

the  murder  of  Darnley  ;  but  she  is  young  and  beau- 
tiful, and  she  repents  sincerely  of  her  past  wicked- 
ness. But  wicked  she  nevertheless  is,  or  has  been  ; 
and  her  repentance  we  find  it  a  little  difficult  to  be- 
lieve in.  Tlie  Mary  whom  Schiller  depicts  would 
have  been  incapable  of  murder  ;  and  the  murder, 
being  an  admitted  fact,  is  therefore  unaccounted  for 
and  seems  to  have  no  connection  with  the  Queen's 
character.  It  is  as  if  some  sinister  Fate  had  decreed 
it,  and  used  the  lovely  woman  as  a  half-unconscious 
tool.  This  is  to  my.  mind  a  serious  defect.  How 
much  subtler  is  Swinbiirne's  conception  of  the  char- 
acter of  Mary,  with  her  feline  femininity  and  her 
exquisite,  dangerous  beauty  !  And  the  affectionate 
cajolery,  full  of  sweet  sensuous  well-being,  and  the 
playful  tenderness  of  a  leopardess !  There  was  a 
masculine  simplicity  about  Schiller  which  made  him 
incapable  of  entering  into  the  deeper  subtleties  of 
the  female  nature.  He  saw  and  understood  large 
heroic  types,  but  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  presented  a 
problem  which  was  certainly  beyond  him. 

In  order  to  arouse  our  sympathy  for  the  heroine 
in  spite  of  her  guilt,  it  is  of  course  necessary  to 
make  her  sufferings  as  acute  as  possible,  and  to  de- 
pict Elizabeth,  who  inflicts  them,  in  the  blackest 
colors.  According  to  Schiller,  jealousy  was  Eliza- 
beth's chief  motive  in  persecuting  her  beautiful  rival. 
The  welfare  of  England,  and  the  preservation  of  the 
Protestant  faith  enter  but  secondarily  into  her  cal- 
culations, and  petty  malice  and  envy  of  Mary's  phys- 
ical loveliness  appear  everywhere  as  the  mainsprings 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  SCHILLER      20$ 

of  her  action.  It  is  hardly  to  be  disputed  that  Schil- 
ler has  here  anticipated  the  opinions  of  later  histo- 
rians who  are  inclined  to  agree  with  him  in  his  esti- 
mate of  the  Queen  of  England.  But  for  all  that,  it 
would  have  been  more  ti*agically  effective  if  the  wel- 
fare of  the  nation,  and  the  preservation  of  the  faith, 
rather  than  the  jealousy  of  a  woman,  had  been  made 
to  demand  Queen  Mary's  sacrifice.  For  it  is  more 
dignified  to  die  as  the  victim  of  a  nation's  progress 
than  as  that  of  a  woman's  hate.  On  the  stage  "  Mary 
Stuart "  proved  a  success  ;  and  the  author's  reputa- 
tion as  a  dramatist  began  to  spread  even  to  foreign 
lands,  as  is  proved  by  the  fact  that  he  was  offered 
£60  by  a  London  theatre  for  every  play  which  he 
would  send  to  England  for  representation,  before  he 
published  it  in  Germany. 

Schiller' a  next  dramatic  venture  was  "  The  Maid 
of  Orleans,"  which  was  published  in  1801,  with  the 
significant  sub-title,  "  A  Romantic  Tragedy."  It  is 
the  well-known  story  of  Joan  of  Arc,  which  is  here 
dramatized,  with  all  the  attendant  marvels  and  mira- 
cles with  which  tradition  has  gradually  encumbered 
it.  The  Maid  appears  as  a  semi-supernatural  agent 
by  whom  the  divine  will  is  executed.  In  taking  upon 
herself  the  deliverance  of  France  from  its  enemies, 
she  obeys  reluctantly  a  divine  command,  and  the 
moment  she  yields  to  earthly  love,  which  puts  her 
on  a  level  with  other  mortals,  her  faith  in  her 
heavenly  mission  deserts  her,  she  falls  into  the 
hands  of  the  English,  and  is  burned  at  the  stake  as 
a   witch.     Although  abounding  in  passages  of  great 


206  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

beauty,  and  replete  with  startling  scenic  effects, 
"  The  Maid  of  Orleans"  is  undoubtedly  the  weakest 
of  Schiller's  historical  tragedies.  It  has  no  root  in 
the  moral  consciousness  of  the  century.  The  guilt 
for  which  the  Maid  is  punished  by  Heaven  is  no 
guilt  to  us.  She  is  a  woman,  and  she  loves.  There 
is  no  evidence  in  the  text  that  she  falls.  If  it  were 
particularly  emphasized  that  she  is  guilty,  because 
she  loves  an  enemy  of  France,  we  might  be  induced 
to  approve,  conditionally,  of  the  judgment  of  Heaven. 
But  this  is  not  the  charge ;  it  is  merely  for  being 
what  she  is,  and  recognizing  the  passions  insepara- 
ble from  her  nature  that  she  is  made  to  suffer  a  cruel 
and  ignominious  death.  It  was  the  reading  of  the 
authors  of  the  so-called  "Romantic  School,"  all  of 
whom  dealt  in  miracles  and  supernatural  mysteries, 
which  led  Schiller  to  make  this  experiment  in  medi- 
aeval wonder-lore.  As  a  spectacular  stage  piece  it 
has  always  met  with  extraordinary  success ;  and 
however  much  critics  may  cavil,  the  people  still  per- 
sist in  liking  it. 

In  "  The  Bride  of  Messina,"  Schiller  made  a  fresh 
and  very  daring  experiment,  not  with  mediaeval 
superstition,  but  with  the  Greek  idea  of  Fate.  With 
great  ingenuity  he  devised  a  situation  in  which  a 
paternal  curse  takes  the  place  of  destiny,  and  two 
apparently  contradictory  dreams  correspond  to  the 
ambiguous  oracles.  Even  the  chorus  is  reintro- 
duced and  cries  its  "  woe,  woe,"  as  it  does  in  the 
tragedies  of  J^schylus  and  Sophocles.  The  whole 
drama,  although  its  exaltation  of  language  and  po- 


THE   LIFE  AND    WORKS    OF  SCHILLER      20/ 

etic  beauty  are  unsurpassed  in  German  literature,  is 
too  remote  from  modern  thought  and  feeling  to  appeal 
to  a  modern  audience.  It  has,  therefore,  unlike  the 
other  tragedies  of  Schiller,  failed  to  gain  a  foot- 
hold upon  the  stage,  and  is  only  occasionally  revived 
as  a  diversion  for  scholars,  and  out  of  respect  for 
the  author's  memory.  Schiller  himself  expressed  in 
a  letter  to  Korner  great  delight  at  the  first  perform- 
ance of  this  classic  drama,  and  Goethe  asserted  that 
it  had  consecrated  the  German  stage  for  better 
things  to  come. 

In  the  autumn  of  1802,  Schiller  received  from  the 
Emperor  Francis  II.  a  diploma  of  nobility,  which, 
for  the  sake  of  his  wife  and  children,  he  accepted 
with  the  proper  acknowledgments.  In  December, 
1803,  Madame  de  Staiil  aiTived  in  Weimar,  and 
by  her  excessive  volubility  put  his  patience  to  a 
severe  test.  Her  brilliancy  was,  at  times,  positively 
oppressive,  and  when,  finally,  she  left,  he  wi'ote  to 
Goethe  that  he  felt  as  if  he  had  passed  through  a 
severe  illness.  In  the  spring  of  1804  he  was  invited 
to  visit  Berlin,  and  all  his  historical  tragedies  were 
successively  brought  upon  the  stage  with  a  magnifi- 
cence which  exceeded  his  most  daring  anticipations. 
The  court  and  the  people  delighted  to  honor  him, 
and  negotiations  were  opened  v/itli  a  view  to  induc- 
ing him  to  take  iip  his  residence  in  the  Prussian 
capital ;  but  the  companionship  of  Goethe  and  his 
familiar  circle  in  Weimar  were  more  precious  than 
the  pomp  of  a  royal  court.  He  therefore  refused  to 
accept  the  terms  offered  by  the  Prussian  minister,  if. 


208  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

indeed,  the  latter,  as  has  latterly  been  questioned, 
embodied  his  oral  promises  in  a  definite  proposition. 
Three  months  before  his  journey  to  Berlin,  Schil- 
ler had  finished  the  last  drama  which  he  completed, 
viz.,  "  Wilhelm  Tell."  In  all  probability  it  was 
Goethe's  journey  to  Switzerland,  and  his  conversa- 
tion concerning  the  poetic  possibilities  of  the  Tell 
legend,  which  aroused  Schiller's  interest  in  the  Swiss 
traditions,  and  prompted  him  to  penise  Tschudi's 
Swiss  Chronicle.  It  is  well  known  that  Goethe  him- 
self contemplated  writing  an  epic  with  Tell  for  its 
hero,  but  that  he  subsequently  abandoned  the  plan, 
and  recommended  the  subject  to  his  friend.  Al- 
though somewhat  loosely  put  together,  and  without 
any  well-defined  focus  of  interest,  "  Wilhelm  Tell " 
has  always  been  the  popular  favorite  among  Schiller's 
dramas,  and  possesses  a  charm  which  seems  never 
to  fail  or  grow  old.  It  may  be  a  weakness  of  con- 
struction that  TeU's  role,  as  the  deliverer  of  his 
countr}',  is,  in  a  manner,  accidental ;  since,  accord- 
ing to  his  own  testimony,  he  kills  Gessler  in  self-de- 
fence, and  in  order  to  protect  his  wife  and  children 
from  the  tyrant's  vengeance.  It  may  also  be  contra- 
ry to  dramatic  canons  to  have  two  parallel  intrigues 
without  any  vital  interdependence,  but  in  spite  of 
all  such  objections  the  fact  remains  that  the  drama 
has  always  been  greeted  with  a  warm  and  sponta- 
neous enthusiasm  wherever  it  has  been  worthily 
represented.  The  fragrance  of  the  Alpine  meadows, 
and  the  breath  of  the  glaciers  blow  into  our  faces 
from  the  very  opening  scene,  and  a  long,  clear  vista 


THE  LIFE  AND    WORKS   OF  SCHILLER      209 

is  revealed  into  the  very  heart  of  the  beautiful  Swit- 
zerland. In  the  presence  of  such  vivid  impressions 
the  Clitic's  dissenting  voice  is  left  unheeded.  It  is 
drowned  in  the  rush  and  roar  of  the  ice-fed  rivers, 
and  in  the  resounding  echoes  of  the  ranz-des-vaches. 

As  Schiller's  hold  upon  existence  grew  feebler, 
his  interest  in  his  work  grew  more  intense.  He  la- 
bored incessantly,  even  while  tortured  by  physical 
sufiferings.  During  the  winter  of  1804-5,  he  had 
several  severe  attacks  of  illness  which  shattered  his 
weak  frame.  And  yet  the  thought  of  his  next 
drama,  "Demetrius,"  never  left  him.  Whenever  he 
had  a  little  respite  from  suffering  he  immediately 
resumed  his  work  upon  this  "child  of  sorrows." 
Even  after'  consciousness  had  left  him  he  raved  in 
his  delirium  about  the  Kussian  pretender,  and  de- 
claimed scene  after  scene  with  excited  looks  and 
gestures.  Next  to  his  wife  and  children  there  was 
nothing  in  the  world  which  it  grieved  him  more  to 
abandon  than  this  unfinished  master-piece  ;  but  per- 
haps not  even  this  exception  ought  to  be  made. 
May  9,  1805,  he  expired.  His  last  conscious  act 
was  to  kiss  his  wife,  and  his  last  words  were :  "Hap- 
py, ever  happier." 

The  significance  of  his  life  and  work  to  his  coun- 
try it  is  difficult  to  over-estimate.  By  his  fearless 
protest  against  tyranny  and  his  worship  of  liberty 
he  first  wakened  the  noble  rebellion  which  in  time 
will  accomplish  the  enfranchisement  of  the  father- 
land from  spiritual  and  political  despotism.  In  the 
sober  idealism  of  his  maturer  years  he  sought  a  con- 
14 


2IO  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

solation,  in  the  world  of  thought,  for  what  reality 
could  not  yield  him  ;  and  thus  the  German  finds,  at 
each  stage  of  his  development,  the  fuller  utterance 
in  Schiller's  life  and  work  for  his  own  unformulated 
thought  and  sentiment.  Nevertheless,  the  key-note 
of  his  song,  which  he  first  struck  in  his  youthful  re- 
bellion against  tyranny,  has  resounded  with  stronger 
vibrations  than  his  more  philosophic  strains ;  and 
he  returned  to  it  once  more  in  his  last  completed 
drama.  Therefore  the  Germans  are  not  wrong  in 
loving  and  revering  him  as  "  the  poet  of  liberty." 


THE  GERMAN  NOVEL 


YIII. 

THE  EVOLUTION  OF  THE  GERMAN 
NOVEL 


DELIGHT  in  epic  narration  is  not  a  distinctly 
Teutonic  trait ;  it  is  a  human  one.  Barbaric 
life,  as  soon  as  it  reaches  a  certain  stage  of  develop- 
ment, is  sure  to  have  its  novelist,  whose  works  per- 
ish with  the  memory  of  those  who  hear  them.  The 
Icelandic  scalds  and  saga-men  of  the  eleventh, 
twelfth,  and  thirteenth  centuries  were  such  primi- 
tive novelists,  and  were  only  more  fortunate  than 
generations  of  their  predecessors  in  having  found 
somebody  to  save  their  tales  from  oblivion.  The 
metrical  form  was  undoubtedly  at  first  merely  a 
mnemonic  device — an  aid  to  memory  ;  and  allitera- 
tion served  the  same  purpose.  The  initial  word  or 
letter  of  a  lay,  when  cut  into  a  runic  staff,  would 
be  likely  to  suggest  the  remainder  of  the  line  ;  and 
as  the  weighty  word  of  the  second  line  had  to  com- 
mence with  the  same  letter  the  mind  would  be,  as 
it  were,  borne  along  by  the  suggestive  force  of  the 
sound.  The  lays  or  narratives  themselves  were 
not  songs,  in  the  modern  sense,  but  merely  rude 
recitatives,  or  a  kind  of  intoned  rhythmical  speech. 


2 1 4  GERM  A  N  LIT  ERA  TURE 

• 

similar  to  that  which  may  yet  be  heard  among  the 
rhapsodists  of  Greece. 

Tacitus  alludes  to  the  existence  of  such  lays 
among  the  early  Germans,  celebrating  the  deeds  of 
departed  kings  and  ancestors.  Thus,  in  later  years, 
sitting  at  the  festal  board,  or  around  their  camp- 
fires,  the  warriors  recited  the  deeds  of  Arminius, 
who  delivered  them  from  the  yoke  of  the  Romans. 
The  remnants  of  these  primitive  songs  which  Char- 
lemagne with  intelligent  zeal  had  collected,  were 
deliberately  destroyed  by  his  bigoted  sou,  who 
hoped  to  save  his  paltry  soul  by  exterminating 
these  last  vestiges  of  heathenism.  If  Iceland,  too, 
had  had  a  sufficiently  attractive  climate  to  make  it 
worth  while  for  Italian  priests  to  despoil  her,  we 
should  probably  to-day  not  have  a  single  complete 
specimen  left  of  these  early  pagan  lays.  But,  fortu- 
nately, the  Icelandic  priests  were  natives,  and  un- 
derstood the  national  value  of  the  sagas;  and  tak- 
ing it  for  granted  that  the  development  of  the 
Teutonic  spirit  in  Germany  and  Scandinavia  was  in 
all  essentials  parallel,  we  may  safely  infer  that  the 
songs  which  the  priests  of  Louis  the  Pious  burned 
gi-eatly  resembled  the  lays  preserved  to  us  in  the 
Eddas.  That  the  Niblung  and  Volsung  legends, 
which  form  a  great  part  of  the  Elder  Edda,  were 
common  to  the  whole  Germanic  race  we  have  posi- 
tive evidence  ;  and  it  is  hardly  to  be  questioned 
that  much  of  the  mythological  material  must  have 
been  preserved,  up  to  the  Christian  era,  by  German 
as  well  as  by  Scandinavian  tradition.     The  German 


THE   GERMAN  NOVEL  21$ 

ballads  and  folk-lore  afford  conclusive  proof  that 
such  was  the  case  ;  and  any  one  who  will  take  the 
trouble  to  compare  the  fairy  tales  of  the  Brothers 
Grimm  with  those  collected  by  the  Norsemen,  As- 
bjornsen  and  Moe,  may  trace  the  parallel  develoi>- 
ment  of  mythological  types  in  the  two  iiations.  It  is 
more  than  probable,  therefore,  that  the  so-called  ro- 
mantic sagas,  the  pagaii  prototypes  of  the  fairy  tale, 
must  have  existed  in  Germany  as  well  as  in  Norway  ; 
and  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  destructive  zeal  of 
Louis  the  Pious,  we  should  in  all  probability  have 
been  able  to  point  to  the  Teutonic  countei-parts  of 
the  stories  of  Oervarodd  and  AngantjT  and  his  breth- 
ren, which  occupy  the  same  position  and  appealed  to 
the  same  need  in  ancient  life  as  the  works  of  jiopu- 
lar  novelists  in  our  life  of  to-day.  In  the  mean- 
while, owing  to  the  anxiety  of  the  aforesaid  King 
for  his  soul,  we  have  to  deplore  a  missing  link  in 
the  evolution  of  the  German  novel. 

Delight  in  the  marvellous  is  characteristic  of 
children  and  savages.  All  crude  and  undeveloped 
minds  prefer  the  miraculous  to  the  normal.  '*  They 
come  to  see,  but  they  prefer  to  stare,"  as  Goethe 
says  of  the  theatrical  public.  It  takes  a  very  con- 
siderable culture  and  an  insight,  of  which  but  a 
vanishing  minority  of  mankind  is  possessed,  to  ap- 
preciate what  is  really  typical  of  the  age  or  the  na- 
tion, and  what  is  the  normal  and  logical  conse- 
quence of  a  certain  line  of  conduct.  If  we  are  to 
judge  men  by  their  actions,  they  have  still  only  the 
dimmest  perception  of  the  agencies  which  affect 


2 1 6  GERM  A  N  LITER  A  TURE 

their  lives,  and  as  long  as  this  ignorance  exists  and 
is  fostered  by  our  educational  methods,  it  is  scarcely 
to  be  expected  that  they  will  take  pleasure  in  seeing 
that  depicted  in  books  which  they  are  unable  to 
recognize  in  reality.  They  must  know  what  is  nor- 
mal before  they  can  take  delight  in  it.  They  must 
recognize  the  law  before  they  can  distinguish  be- 
tween that  which  conforms  to  it  and  that  which 
does  not.  Fortunately,  the  beneficent  scientific 
moTement  of  recent  years  has  revealed  and  is  re- 
vealing to  a  constantly  increasing  number  of  men 
the  true  logic  of  existence,  and  teaching  them  to 
order  their  lives  in  accordance  with  certain  ascei'- 
tainable  laws  which  will  govern  them,  either  with 
or  without  their  consent.  To  such  men  exciting 
tales  of  crime  and  mystery,  dealing  with  impossible 
or  abnormal  incidents,  become  positively  odious, 
while  the  sober  and  refined  novel  of  manners,  illus- 
trating typical  though  often  unpleasant  phases  of 
existence,  gives  keen  enjoyment.  They  are  apt  to 
pi'efer  Thackeray  to  Dickens,  and  perhaps  Turgeneff 
to  both.  They  could  not  be  induced  to  read  a  de- 
tective story  by  Gaboriau,  however  thrilling  the 
plot,  and  they  have  at  heart  more  respect  even  for 
Zola  than  for  some  of  his  sentimental  covfrtres.  It 
may  be  questioned,  perhaps,  whether  this  wholesome 
change  in  the  public  taste  is  due  to  the  progress  of 
science,  and  I  have  not  the  space  here  to  convince 
those  who  are  inclined  to  disagree.  The  influence 
of  scientific  discovery  asserts  itself,  however,  in  a 
thousand  subtle  and    widely    ramified   ways,  and 


THE   GERMAN  NOVEL  21/ 

reaches  even  those  who  are  most  aggressive  in  their 
hostility  to  the  modern  school  of  thought.  The 
phenomenon  nevertheless  remains  that  a  notable 
change  is  taking  place  in  the  opinions  of  cultivated 
people  all  over  the  world,  and  their  literary  tastes 
naturally  keep  pace  with  their  growth  in  other  di- 
rections. Such  changes  have,  of  course,  been  tak- 
ing place  at  all  times,  and  the  chief  value  of  litera- 
ture consists  in  its  preserving  a  record  of  these 
progressive  changes,  and  thus  furnishing  data  for  a 
history  of  the  evolution  of  the  human  mind.  In 
Germany  this  record  is,  up  to  the  twelfth  centurj', 
extremely  fragmentary,  but  from  the  Middle  Ages 
down  to  the  present  day  the  material  is  abundant. 

By  a  novel  in  its  broadest  sense  I  mean  a  narra- 
tive, either  in  prose  or  verse,  whose  primary  object 
is  to  entertain  ;  and  in  tracing  the  pedigree  of  the 
novel  back  into  savage  life  I  shall  merely  endeavor 
to  find  some  corresponding  agency,  ministering  to 
this  same  need  of  entertainment.  A  community  in 
the  militant  state  is  naturally  oppressed  with  a  su- 
perfluity of  leisure  ;  the  warriors,  however  brave, 
cannot  always  be  fighting  and  hunting,  and  as  they 
disdain  to  till  the  field,  time  must  during  the  great- 
er part  of  the  year  often  hang  heavily  upon  their 
hands.  In  Iceland  we  know  from  the  sagas  that 
this  was  the  case.  The  men,  when  they  did  not 
drink  or  sleep  (in  both  of  which  luxuries  they  in- 
dulged largely),  went  about  aching  for  a  quarrel, 
and  seizing  the  most  trifling  pretext  for  killing  any 
one  who  came  in  their  way.     They  had  to  find  some 


2l8  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

outlet  for  tLeir  superabundant  energy,  and  slaying 
•was  regarded  as  a  convenient  and  honorable  amuse- 
ment. But  even  quarrelling  will  in  time  become 
monotonous  ;  and  kings  and  chiefs,  who  could  not 
afford  to  have  their  men  decimated  by  internecine 
brawls,  had  to  provide  some  more  harmless  way  of 
keeping  their  faculties  occupied.  That  this  was  the 
only  reason  for  attaching  one  or  more  scalds  to  the 
court  of  every  king,  earl,  or  chieftain,  I  would  not 
assert ;  but  that  it  was  a  very  weighty  reason  is  ob- 
vious from  many  passages  in  the  sagas.  When  the 
men  grew  quarrelsome  the  king  called  upon  the 
scald  to  entertain  them,  and  they  forgot  their  wrath. 
The  tales  that  he  told  were  usually  of  tremendous 
feats  of  sti'ength,  terrible  battles,  and  marvels  of 
foreign  lands ;  and  it  is  notable  that  the  oldest 
sagas  (such  as  the  Volsunga)  are  almost  one  contin- 
uous series  of  miracles.  Magic,  incantations,  trans- 
foi'mations  into  animals,  play  an  important  pai't  in 
them.  They  touch  reality  only  remotely,  and  their 
power  to  charm  depended  primarily  upon  their  su- 
pernaturalism.  Prose  is  here  used,  interspersed 
with  occasional  songs,  and  the  heroes  are  often  his- 
toric personages  who  are  magnified  into  supernat- 
ural proportions.  But  besides  these  we  have  the 
so-called  romantic  sagas,  which  are  as  frankly  ficti- 
tious as  "  Puss  in  Boots "  and  "  Jack  the  Giant- 
Killer."  The  familiar  figure.  Boots,  or  the  Ashie- 
pattle,  as  he  is  called  in  the  Norse  fairy  tale — the 
despised  boy  who  sits  in  the  ashes  and  is  supposed 
to  be  good  for  nothing — occurs  constantly  in  such 


THE   GERMAN  NOVEL  2ig 

sagas  as  that  of  Ketil  Hoing,  Grim  Lodinkin,  etc., 
and  even  though  he  does  not  always  end  by  mann- 
ing the  princess,  he  never  fails  to  dumfound  his 
contemners  by  some  monstrous  feat  of  strength  or 
daring.  Dragons,  hidden  treasures,  wizards,  mer- 
maids, and  all  the  well-known  figures  of  the  fairy 
tale  abound  in  these  sagas,  Avhich,  however,  in  those 
early  times  were  told  for  the  edification  of  grown 
people,  and  not  of  children.  That  the  Germans  had 
similar  tales,  and  a  class  of  men  similar  to  the  Norse 
scalds,  can  scarcely  be  doubted.  Primitive  society 
positively  demanded  them,  and  it  would  have  been 
strange  if  so  urgent  a  demand  should  have  met  with 
no  response.  It  is  not  necessary  that  they  should 
have  formed  a  distinct  caste,  like  Klopstock's  and 
Kretchmann's  hypothetical  bards ;  but  they  may, 
like  the  Scandinavian  scalds,  have  been  warriors,  ex- 
ceptionally endowed  with  imagination  and  the  power 
of  speech.  A  vast  deal  of  nonsense  has  been  written 
in  Germany  about  "das  dichtende  Volk,"  and  much 
ingenuity  has  been  wasted  in  attempts  to  pi'ove  that 
portions  of  the  Nibelungen  Lied  have  no  individual 
author,  but  are  the  direct  product  of  the  poetic  faculty 
of  the  collective  people.  The  Wolfian  theory  regard- 
ing the  origin  of  the  Homeric  poems  has,  by  Bartch, 
Lachmann,  and  others,  been  applied  to  the  Nibelung- 
en, and  the  very  flattering  conclusion  has  been  ai'- 
rived  at  that,  previous  to  the  twelfth  century,  when 
the  minnesingers  began  to  flourish,  the  whole  Ger- 
man people,  in  a  half-unconscious  and  miraculous 
manner,  composed  epics,  or  epic  ballads,  dealing 


220  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

with  the  illustrious  deeds  of  their  kings  and  heroes ; 
and  that  all  that  the  professional  poet  had  to  do, 
when  he  appeared  upon  the  scene,  was  to  join  these 
ballads  together,  polish  up  the  metre  here  and  there, 
and  supply  the  missing  links  in  the  tale  by  some 
supplementary  verses.  Although  I  cannot  subscribe 
to  this  theory,  it  is  fair  to  admit  that  no  one  has  the 
historical  data  at  hand  either  to  prove  or  to  dis- 
prove it.  It  has  grown  out  of  a  certain  sentimental 
regard  for  "  the  people  "  which  has  become  fashion- 
able in  Germany  during  the  last  thirty  years,  and 
in  part  also  from  a  very  pardonable  desire  to  have  a 
national  epic  of  as  diguified  a  pedigree  as  the 
"  Iliad  "  and  the  "  Odyssey." 

But  whether  the  Germans  had  scalds  or  not,  be- 
fore the  age  of  the  minnesingers,  it  is  very  sure  that 
they  must  have  had  some  kind  of  story-tellers  who 
preserved  their  national  traditions.  It  is  not  credi- 
ble to  me  that  the  story  of  the  Niblungs  and  Vol- 
sungs  should  have  been  brought  to  them  b}^  Scandi- 
navian vikings,  and  afterward  remodelled  in  accord- 
ance with  the  Christian  spirit  and  the  changed 
geography  of  its  new  domicile.  If,  as  I  believe,  the 
legend  is  indigenous,  it  must  have  taken  various 
shapes  in  the  hands  of  various  singers,  and  assumed 
in  some  degree  the  color  of  every  successive  age  in 
which  it  was  reproduced.  If  we  take  the  extant 
version,  which  dates  from  the  latter  half  of  the 
twelfth  or  the  beginning  of  the  thirteenth  century, 
we  can  trace  in  every  canto  a  conscious  softening 
of  the  crude  material,  and  concessions  to  the  courtly 


THE   GERMAN  NOVEL  221 

taste.  The  story  was,  in  this  shape,  intended  for 
the  entertainment  of  knights  and  ladies,  and  that 
it  must  have  been  very  popular  is  evident  from 
the  fact  that  more  than  twenty  manuscripts  have 
been  discovered.  It  is,  then,  if  we  stretch  the  term 
a  little,  a  coherent  story  or  novel  in  verse,  or,  to  be 
more  exact,  the  thirteenth  century's  equivalent  for 
the  modern  novel.  It  answered  the  same  purpose  ; 
it  aroused  emotions  of  sympathy,  admiration,  pleas- 
ure ;  it  entertained.  As  a  countei-part  of  life  it  was 
imperfect,  but  yet  a  much  closer  approximation  to 
reality  than  the  tales  which  held  spell-bound  the 
ruder  waniors  of  earlier  centuries.  The  fairy  tale, 
or  what  corresponded  to  the  romantic  saga,  gradu- 
ally found  its  way  into  the  nursery  and  the  peasants' 
hall,  and  the  fine  ladies  who  wept  with  Chriemhild 
at  the  death  of  her  lord,  would  have  smiled  con- 
temptuousl}'  at  the  crude  wonder-tales  which  had 
delighted  their  ancestors.  And  yet  wonders  are  bj' 
no  means  excluded  from  the  Nibelungen.  In  fact, 
the  opening  verse  announces  : 

"  In  ancient  song  and  story  many  a  wondrous  tale  is  told ;  " 

but  the  wonders,  though  often  startling  enough,  are  of 
a  less  extravagant  character  than  those  which  abound 
in  the  fairy  tale.  Thus  the  story  of  Brynhild's  fab- 
ulous strength,  previous  to  her  marriage,  and  Gun- 
ther's  and  Sigfried's  exchange  of  form,  are  remnants 
of  an  older  version,  and  are  retained  chiefly  be- 
cause they  are  indispensable  to  the  intelligibility 


222  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

of  tbe  plot.  The  mythological  incidents  of  the 
sleeping-thorn  and  the  wall  of  fire  ai'e  omitted, 
as  I  imagine,  in  deference  to  a  more  enlightened 
taste  which  easily  wearied  of  childish  marvels.  On 
the  other  hand,  manners,  customs,  and  details  of 
courtly  etiquette,  which  were  foreign  to  the  age 
from  which  tbe  legend  sprang,  are  continually  in- 
sisted upon,  and  described  with  a  minuteness  worthy 
of  a  modern  novelist.  It  is  very  evident  that  this 
was  what,  in  the  poet's  opinion,  especially  appealed 
to  bis  public,  and  he,  therefore,  omits  no  opportu- 
nity for  dwelling  upon  it.  Thus  tbe  splendor  of  tbe 
tournament,  tbe  magnificence  of  tbe  costumes,  the 
rattle  and  glitter  of  precious  arms,  etc.,  are  depicted 
with  a  lingering  fondness  wbich  is  wholly  at  vari- 
ance with  tbe  spirit  of  tbe  heroic  ballad.  In  the 
end,  to  be  sure,  the  wild  tragedy  of  tbe  original 
theme  asserts  itself  in  unrelieved  ferocity,  and  tbe 
courtly  poet  may  be  pardoned  for  forgetting  bis 
chivalrous  manner  in  the  general  caniage  with 
which  bis  tale  closes.  Tbe  effect  wbich  single 
scenes  in  the  Nibelungen  produce  depends  in  no 
wise  upon  felicity  of  phrase ;  for  tbe  author  often 
expresses  himself  in  tbe  most  tediously  jjrolix  and 
lumbering  manner  ;  but  for  all  that,  one  receives 
impressions  from  the  book  which  are  indelible.  It 
is  the  beauty  of  tbe  situations  themselves  wbicb 
makes  them  linger  long  in  tbe  mind,  not  their  treat- 
ment by  the  author,  wbicb  is  alwaj's  inadequate, 
often  trite  and  pusillanimous.  Thus,  tbe  scene 
where    Chriemhild    starts    for    tbe    matin-mass   at 


THE   GERMAN'  NOVEL  223 

daybreak,  and  finds  her  husband  slain  before  her 
door,  has  a  picturesqueness,  apart  from  its  sublimity, 
which  makes  it  loom  up  among  the  solitary  peaks 
of  memory ;  and  tremendous  in  its  wild  beauty  is 
the  scene  where  Hagen  rises  at  King  Etzel's  board, 
and,  as  an  introduction  to  the  carnage  that  is  to  fol- 
low, shouts  :  "  Now  let  us  drink  the  toast  to  the 
dead,  and  waste  the  king's  wine  !  "  That  there  is  a 
departure  here  from  the  attempt  to  describe  con- 
temporary manners,  is  very  evident ;  but  the  fact 
still  remains  that  a  conscious  effort  is  made  to  drape 
the  legend  in  a  contemporary  garb,  and  to  make  the 
heroes  think,  feel,  and  act  like  knights  and  ladies  of 
the  minnesinger's  age. 

In  the  other  popular  tales  of  the  period,  the  same 
method  is  followed.  The  idea  of  reproducing  the 
color  of  a  bygone  age  had  as  yet  occurred  to  no  one  .; 
and  the  minnesingers,  like  the  mediaeval  painters  of 
Italy,  would  have  had  no  scniple  in  dressing  the 
Madonna  in  the  costumes  of  their  wives.  In  the 
sacred  and  classical  stories,  which  were  ami^lified 
and  remodelled  for  the  edification  of  the  mediaeval 
German  public,  this  adaptation  of  the  historical  cos- 
tume to  contemporary  taste  often  makes  the  oddest 
impression  ;  as,  for  instance,  in  Heinrich  von  Veld- 
eke's  "Eneide,"  where  the  wife  of  King  Latinus  is 
made  to  converse  in  the  following  manner  with  her 
daughter  Lavinia  about  the  nature  of  love : 

"  Mother.  If  you  wish  to  live  happily  and  well, 
daughter,  then  love  Turnus. 

" Daughter.     Wherewith  shall  I  love  him? 


224  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

"Mother.     With  your  heart  and  with  your  senses. 
'^Daughter.     Shall  I  give  him  my  heart? 
"  Mother.     Yes  ;  to  be  sure. 
"Dauglifer.     How,  then,  can  I  live? 
"Mother.     Not  in  that  way  shall  you  give  it  to 
him. 

"Daughter.  How  could  I  turn  my  mind  to  a 
man? 

"  Mother.     Love  will  teach  it  you. 

"  Daughter.     Mother,  by  God,  what  is  love  ? 

"  Mother.  Daughter,  it  is  from  the  beginning  of 
time  powerful  over  the  Avhole  world,  and  shall  ever 
remain  so,  even  unto  the  day  of  doom  ;  but  in  order 
that  no  one  shall  in  any  wise  be  able  to  resist  it, 
love  is  so  made  that  one  can  neither  hear  nor  see  it," 
etc. 

There  is,  of  course,  no  pretence  here  of  fidelity  to 
Latin  chai'acter  —a  very  difi&cult  thing,  by  the  way, 
as  next  to  nothing  is  known  concerning  the  peoples 
that  inhabited  Latium  previous  to  the  founding  of 
Rome.  But  even  if  every  nook  and  cranny  of  the 
pre-Eoman  history  of  Italy  had  been  explored,  I 
doubt  if  Heinrich  von  Veldeke  would  have  availed 
himself  of  these  sources  of  knowledge.  -The  age, 
though  knowing  and  self-conscious  when  compared 
to  the  age  of  the  Niblungs  and  Vulsungs,  was  yet 
naive  in  its  acceptance  of  whatever  pleased,  and  it  saw 
no  incongruity  in  transferring  the  perennial  type  of 
the  ingenue  into  the  age  of  Moses  or  that  of  Eneas, 


THE   GERMAN  NOVEL  22$ 

without  change  of  speech  or  costume.  This  frank 
acceptance  of  one's  self  and  one's  own  experience  as 
typical  for  all  times  and  races  is  a  healthy  sign, 
however,  and  characteristic  of  active,  vigorous  nat- 
ures who  have  no  time  to  expend  in  psychological 
investigation.  Especially  during  the  Middle  Ages, 
when  so  little  historical  knowledge  had  been  accu- 
mulated, and  only  misty  legends  floated  about,  con- 
stantly changing  form  and  yet  finding  credence,  a 
premature  effort  at  historical  correctness  could  only 
have  revealed  its  own  impotence.  That  is  only 
sound  literature  which  has  its  root  in  life,  and  it  can 
represent  only  that  life  which  it  knows  ;  not  that 
which  its  authors  have  never  seen.  The  mediaeval 
epics  are  therefore  only  the  more  valuable,  because 
of  their  reliance  upon  living  models.  When  profess- 
ing to  give  information  concerning  the  Madonna, 
or  Dido,  or  Alexander,  they  give  glimpses  of  contem- 
porary life  and  thought  which  are  no  less  precious 
because,  in  their  relation  to  Hebrew  or  classical  an- 
tiquity, they  are  amusingly  mendacious.  Even  the 
semi-religious  epics,  such  as  Wolfram  von  Eschen- 
bach's  "  Parsifal,"  where  a  mj'stic  symbolism  pre- 
vails, and  endless  miracles  entangle  the  plot,  derive 
their  chief  interest  from  the  revelation  which  they 
afford  regarding  the  mediaeval  temper  and  the  state 
of  mind  to  which  such  obscure  and  labored  allego- 
ries could  appear  at  all  edifying.  For  literature  is 
the  biography  of  humanity,  and  only  where  it  is 
autobiographic  is  it  absolutely  authentic. 

The  first  book  which   appeared  in  Germany  to 
15 


226  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

wbicli  the  title  of  romance  was  given,  was  the  once 
famous  tale  "  Amadis  ; "  and  romance  (Eoman)  is,  as 
everyone  knows,  the  German  equivalent  for  the 
English  "novel."  Originally  the  name  was  given 
merely  to  indicate  that  the  book  was  translated  from 
a  Latin  tongue,  or  in  this  case  from  two,  as  the 
French  version  proved  to  be  a  translation  from  a 
Spanish  original  by  Vasco  le  Sobeira.  The  lingua  ro- 
rtiana  was  the  common  Roman  vernacular  from  which 
Italian,  French,  and  Spanish  have  sprung,  in  contra- 
distinction to  the  lingua  latina — the  classical  Latin. 
The  German  word  wcilsch  is  used  as  a  collective 
term  for  these  languages,  and  wdlsche  Mdhre  was 
formerly  a  common  term  for  a  fantastic,  extravagant 
tale.  But  the  word  liovmn  (romant)  soon  came  to 
be  applied  even  to  indigenous  tales  which  described 
love  and  chivalrous  adventure  in  a  high-flown  and 
exaggerated  style ;  and  in  the  course  of  a  century, 
as  the  memory  of  "  Amadis  "  was  obliterated,  Eoman 
became  the  generic  term  for  all  prose  fiction.  So 
great  was  the  fascination  which  this  book  exerted 
upon  the  German  public,  in  the  sixteenth  and  seven- 
teenth centuries,  that  not  only  were  editions  con- 
stantly multiplied,  but  the  story  itself  was  amplified 
and  enlarged  from  the  original  twelve  books,  first 
to  twenty-four,  and  at  last  to  thirty.  Amadis's  chil- 
dren and  his  gi'and children  invaded  the  story,  and 
as  the  family  of  the  knight  and  his  virtuous  Oriana 
ramified,  the  opportunities  for  tracing  the  advent- 
ures of  successive  generations  became,  of  course, 
unlimited.      It  is,   indeed,   hard  to   imagine  how 


THE   GERMAN  NOVEL  22/ 

people  were  constituted  who  cpuld  find  pleasure  in 
the  turgid  style  and  unwholesome  amorousness  of 
this  book,  and  it  gives  a  measure  of  our  intellectual 
remoteness  even  from  those  whose  culture  was  most 
advanced,  two  hundred  years  ago  ;  for  it  was  the 
so-called  higher  classes  who  gloated  over  the  unsa- 
voiy  twaddle  of  this  "  model  of  chivalrous  virtue," 
and  who  were  edified  by  his  encounters  with  giants, 
wizards,  and  other  dangerous  characters.  It  is  well 
to  take  into  account,  however,  the  dreaiy  and  event- 
less life  of  the  German  country  nobility,  whose 
ladies,  in  their  enforced  quiet,  have  always  been 
large  consumers  of  unwholesome  fiction.  Where 
for  weeks  and  weeks  nothing  of  interest  is  apt  to 
happen,  a  book,  whether  it  be  good  or  bad,  is  a  wel- 
come guest ;  and  one  may  well  pardon  the  avidity 
with  which  the  soul-hungry  country  ladies  of  two 
centuries  ago  devoured  immoral  romances,  and  for- 
got to  blush  at  indelicacies  which  in  speech  they 
might  have  resented. 

In  the  train  of  "  Amadis  "  followed  a  long  series  of 
so-called  "Amadis  Romances,"  which  were  but  vari- 
ations of  the  same  theme  of  solemn  chivalry  and 
over-conscious  vii'tue.  Marvels  yet  abound,  and, 
what  is  worse,  they  are  utterly  absurd  and  arbitrary 
marvels,  invented  merely  because  they  were  in  de- 
mand. Passing  over  a  long  and  dreary  waste  of 
semi-biblical  and  semi-classical  wonder-stories,  we 
come  at  last  to  a  work  of  definite  literary  value.  In 
fact,  Grimmelshausen's  ^^  Der  Abenteuerliche  Sim- 
plicius  Simplicissimus,"  is  not  only  the  first  German 


228  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

novel  of  real  merit,  but  it  will  always  remain  a  his- 
torical document  of  the  utmost  importance.  It  is, 
however,  in  the  strictest  sense,  scarcely  a  novel,  but 
a  thinly  disguised  autobiography,  in  which  the  au- 
thor I'elates,  with  as  much  fidelity  to  fact  as  the 
pretence  of  fiction  permitted,  his  own  adventures  in 
the  Thirty  Years'  War.  In  a  perfectly  easy-going 
manner,  and  without  any  attempt  at  construction, 
Grimmelshausen  initiates  his  readers  into  the  life  of 
the  peasantry,  the  life  of  the  camp,  and  the  reckless 
and  desperate  spirit  of  the  wandering  hordes  whom 
the  war  had  driven  from  peaceful  occupations  into 
vagabondism  and  crime.  All  these  sketches,  in  spite  of 
the  artlessness  of  the  author's  style,  have  a  racy  vigor 
and  an  uncompromising  naturalism  which  bespeak 
the  eye-witness,  not  the  romancer.  As  a  romance, 
the  book  would  be  a  well-nigh  unaccountable  phe- 
nomenon in  the  seventeenth  century,  while  as  a  per- 
sonal history  its  isolation  from  preceding  and  suc- 
ceeding literary  movements  is  easily  explainable. 
The  so-called  "Eobinsonades,"  on  the  other  hand, 
which  followed  with  an  interval  of  about  fifty  years 
(1720)  in  the  wake  of  "  Siwplicissimus,"  are  more  dis- 
tinctly in  accord  with  the  intellectual  temper  of  the 
age.  Their  esthetic  worth  is  nil,  but  as  links  in  the 
chain  of  intellectual  development  they  are  not  without 
interest.  Rebellion  against  the  ti'aditional  organiza- 
tion of  society,  and  enthusiasm  for  an  imaginary 
state  of  Nature,  were  already  finding  their  way  from 
France  into  Germany  ;  and  Defoe's  "  Eobinson  Cru- 
soe," though  scarcely  meant  as  a  revolutionary  mani- 


THE   GERMAN-  NOVEL  229 

festo,  was  accepted  as  a  protest  against  conventional 
reality,  and  as  such  prepared  the  way  for  Eousseau's 
more  direct  and  daring  arraignment  of  civilization. 
The  delight  and  wonder  which  the  book  excited  in 
the, Fatherland  can  now  scarcely  be  conceived.  In  the 
course  of  thirty  years  more  than  forty  imitations  !ii> 
peared  and  found  hosts  of  admiring  readers.  Tlje 
absurd  titles  did  not  discourage  anyone.  Thus  we 
have  the  "German  Robinson,"  the  "Italian  Kobin- 
son,"  the  "Clerical  Bobinson,"  the  "  Medical  Robin- 
son," the  "Moral  Robinson,"  nay,  even  the  "In- 
visible Robinson,"  the  "  Bohemian  Female  Robin- 
son," the  "European  Robinsonetta,"  "Miss  Robinson, 
or  the  Artful  Maid,"  and  "Robunse  and  her  Daugh- 
ter Robinschen."  Besides  these  we  have  a  count- 
less multitude  of  so-called  Aventuriers  or  Books  of 
Adventure,  many  of  which  celebrated  more  or  less 
fervidly  the  superior  advantages  of  desert  islands 
over  effete  civilizations,  and  made  little  boys  plan 
midnight  flights  to  the  happy  land  of  the  cannibals. 
Tliese  books,  which  have  many  points  of  resemblance 
to  our  dime  novels,  remained  in  vogue  for  nearly  a 
century,  and  two  or  three  of  them  retain  their  hold 
upon  the  population  of  sei'vant-maids  and  journey- 
men mechanics  up  to  the  present  time.  They  usu- 
ally give  a  comprehensive  outline  of  the  plot  on  the 
title-pages  as  a  bait  to  reluctant  purchasers.  Al- 
though there  is  no  lack  of  marvels,  and  at  times  of 
the  crudest  kind,  there  is  yet  a  tendency  perceptible 
to  confine  the  incidents  within  the  bounds  of  the 
possible.     The   tale,   after  all,   depends  no  longer 


2  30  GERM  A  N  LITER  A  TURE 

upon  the  supernatural  for  its  attractiveness  ;  on  the 
contrary,  it  recognizes,  in  a  general  way,  tbe  laws  of 
Nature,  and  though  stretching  them  to  their  utmost 
limits,  is  rather  ostentatious  in  its  pretended  con- 
formity to  them.  Slight  as  this  transition  may  seem, 
it  yet  indicates  an  important  change  in  the  attitude 
of  the  'public.  The  'imive  credulity  of  former  times 
had  given  way  to  a  vaguely  critical  mood,  which  ac- 
cepted as  interesting  only  that  which  seemed  within 
the  range  of  possibility. 

The  sentimental  novel,  which,  duiing  the  latter 
half  of  the  eighteenth  century,  gradually  displaced 
the  novel  of  adventure,  was,  with  all  its  absurdities, 
an  advance  upon  its  predecessor.  Gellert's  "Life  of 
tlie  Swedish  Countess  G.,"  was  the  first  swallow  of 
sentiment  which  heralded  the  swarm  that  was  to  fol- 
low ;  but  it  was  Goethe  who,  in  his  "Sorrows  of 
Werther"  (1774),  revealed  to  the  German  public  the 
luxury  of  self-pity  and  the  charm  of  morbid  self- 
analysis.  All  Germany  wept,  and  found  pleasure  in 
weeping.  Some  men  went  to  the  length  of  killing 
themselves  in  imitation  of  Werther.  Each  little  man 
or  woman  exaggerated  his  or  her  little  feelings  into 
colossal  proportions,  took  careful  note  of  all  his  or 
her  exquisite  sentiments,  which  were  then  written 
out  in  diaries  and  passed  around  for  the  edification  of 
friends.  It  was  maiTellous  what  a  crop  of  exquisite 
sentiments  the  Werther  period  produced.  Later 
ages  have  nothing  to  show  in  comparison  with  it ; 
and  yet  if  we  were  all  to  keep  watch  of  our  fine  feel- 
ings and  record  them  for  the  benefit  of  the  public, 


THE   GERMAN  NOVEL  23 1 

what  beautiful  things  we  might  manage  to  feel  on 
proper  pi-o vocation !  Nevertheless,  it  was  not 
"  Werther "  which  raised  this  storm  of  hysterical 
sentiment.  The  sentiment  was  there  before,  though 
in  a  latent  and  half- unconscious  state  ;  and  Goethe 
was  merely  the  first  to  give  a  poetic  expression  to  a 
universal  state  of  mind.  Who  has  not  been  im- 
pressed, when  reading  memoirs  and  correspondence 
from  the  eighteenth  century,  with  the  emotional  ex- 
ti'avagance  which  seems  to  have  pervaded  the  rela- 
tions of  men  and  women  in  those  days?  Every 
feeling  is  magnified,  and  its  expression  heightened, 
until  it  borders  upon  the  absurd.  Where  a  man  of 
to-day  would  tell  his  friend  that  he  had  missed  him, 
a  German  of  the  eighteenth  century  would  assure 
him  that  his  heart  had  yearned  for  him,  that  his 
soul  had  been  athirst  for  the  sound  of  his  voice. 
That  is,  in  general,  the  tone  of  Schiller's  youthful 
con*espondence  with  Kurner  and  Frau  von  Wol- 
zogen,  and  Goethe's  epistles  from  the  Werther 
period  (particularly  those  to  Jacobi),  are  no  less  hy- 
perbolical. ' '  Werther "  is,  therefore,  in  no  wise  the 
expression  of  an  isolated  mood  ;  it  is  a  diagnosis  of 
the  malady  of  the  age.  The  book  is,  in  the  noblest 
sense,  realistic.  The  incidents  are  poetic,  yet  nor- 
mal, the  characters  are  typical  and  psychologically 
true,  and  not  the  remotest  concession  is  made  to  the 
crude  taste  for  excitement  and  marvels.  Its  literary 
quality  is  admirable.  Nevertheless,  Goethe  would 
have  been  the  first  to  admit  that,  in  other  respects, 
it  leaves  much  room  for  further  achievement. 


232  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

*'  Werther  "  is  a  simple  tale — hardly  reaches  the 
dimensions  of  what  we  call  a  novel ;  and  Goethe 
may  have  felt  that  the  fame  which  he  reaped  from 
it  was  all  out  of  proportion  to  the  effort  its  compo- 
sition had  cost  him.  At  all  events,  he  made  in  his 
next  novel,  "  Wilhelm  Meister,"  an  attempt  to  repre- 
sent a  larger  section  of  life,  to  strike  the  key-note 
of  the  intellectual  movement  of  the  century.  In- 
stead of  one  slender  thread  of  narrative,  he  has  here 
half  a  dozen  intertangled  intrigues,  each  of  which 
tends  to  enlarge  the  picture  of  life  in  all  its  check- 
ered heterogeneity. 

Evolution,  according  to  one  of  the  several  defini- 
tions presented  by  Herbert  Spencer,  is  a  develop- 
ment from  the  homogeneous  to  the  heterogeneous, 
and  if  the  novel  is  to  keep  pace  with  life,  it  must 
necessarily  be  subject  to  the  same  development ;  it 
must,  in  its  highest  form,  convey  an  impression  of 
the  whole  complex  machinery  of  the  modern  state 
and  society,  and,  by  implication  at  least,  make  clear 
the  influences  and  surroundings  which  fashioned 
the  hero's  character  and  thus  determined  his  career. 
To  explain  all  these  things  in  explicit  language 
would,  of  course,  require  an  encyclopaedia,  but  there 
are  yet  other  ways  of  making  them  present  to  the 
reader's  consciousness.  Thus  in  Thackeray's  "  The 
Newcombes,"  "Peudennis,"  and  "Vanity  Fair,"  wo 
seem  to  hear  the  rush  and  roar  of  the  huge  city  in 
which  the  scene  is  laid.  The  vigorous  blood  of  the 
nineteenth  century  throbs  and  pulsates  through 
eveiy  scene  and  chapter,  and  we  have  a  subcon- 


THE   GERMAN'  NOVEL  233 

sciousness  of  the  noisy  metropolitan  life  even  in  the 
quietest  domestic  episodes.  It  is  this  vivid  presence 
of  the  spirit  of  the  age  which  imparts  to  Goethe's  as 
to  Thackeray's  novels  a  perennial,  I  might  say  an 
historical,  value.  Especially  does  "  Wilhelm  Meis- 
ter  "  occupy  a  position  as  a  cultui'geschichilicher  Bo- 
man,  unappi'oached  by  any  other  work  of  German 
literature.  The  central  theme  is  self-development, 
a  Quixotic  pilgrimage  in  search  of  culture.  Wil- 
helm begins  by  recognizing  no  obligations  except 
those  of  his  own  choosing,  but  passes  through  a 
long  discipline  which  teaches  him  that  happiness  is 
to  be  found  not  in  rebellion  against,  but  in  submis- 
sion to,  the  established  order  of  the  world.  The 
fantastic  individualism  which  characterized  the  cen- 
tury is  tamed  and  curbed  in  this  representative  hero, 
until  it  resumes,  of  its  own  accord,  all  the  burden- 
some duties  which  are  supposed  to  hinder  the  free 
development  and  retard  the  daring  flight  of  the 
soul.  That  this  is  a  wholesome  doctrine  no  one  will 
dispute.  It  is  the  ever-recurring  theme  of  George 
Eliot's  novels ;  and  Freytag  and  Auerbach  have 
treated  it  incidentally  in  "Debit  and  Credit,"  and 
"  On  the  Heights."  The  short  cut  to  happiness  is 
always  the  longest  road  ;  emancipation  from  duty 
leads  to  slavery,  not  to  freedom.  By  submission  to 
the  cosmic  laws  of  order,  however,  Goethe  did  not 
necessarily  mean  an  uncritical  acceptance  of  reality 
as  it  is.  Conservative  as  he  was  by  temperament, 
and  personally  disinclined  to  agitation,  he  was  yet 
too  clear-sighted  not  to  perceive  the  tendency  of 


234  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

the  century.  That  the  old  feudal  civilization  was 
gradually  breaking  up,  and  giving  way  to  a  new  in- 
dustrial civilization  in  which  every  man's  worth 
should  be  in  accordance  with  his  usefulness  was, 
perhaps,  the  cardinal  proposition  which  he  wished 
to  demonstrate  in  "  Wilhelm  Meister."  Hence 
Wilhelm,  instead  of  remaining  an  actor,  or  becom- 
ing a  noble  idler,  as  his  early  inclination  would  have 
led  him  to  desire,  takes  up  deliberately  the  yoke  of 
duty  which  he  had  flung  away,  and  settles  down  to 
humdrum  domestic  life  and  usefulness  as  a  country 
physician.  "  What  a  lame  and  disappointing  end- 
ing ! "  exclaims  the  romantic  young  lady  who  has 
read  the  book  because  she  has  seen  it  hinted  in  her 
"Handbook of  Universal  Literature"  that  Goethe  was 
a  great,  though  somewhat  immoral  writer.  True, 
from  the  romantic  point  of  view,  the  novel  offers 
few  attractions,  except,  perhaps,  the  stoiy  of  Mignon 
and  the  Hai-pei*,  and  the  fascinating  improprieties 
of  the  pretty  actress,  Philine.  But,  philosophical- 
ly, it  will  always  remain  a  work  of  significance, 
even  though  the  unpardonably  chaotic  arrange- 
ment of  the  second  part  ("Wilhelm  Meister's  Wan- 
derjahre  ")  and  the  many  puzzling  allegories  which 
every  now  and  then  interrupt  the  progress  of  the 
tale,  often  try  the  reader's  patience  and  spoil  his 
pleasure.  In  spite  of  these  glaring  faults,  however, 
the  book  became  the  prototype  in  conformity  to 
which  a  great  number  of  German  novels  during  the 
first  half  of  the  present  century  were  more  or  less 
consciously  modelled.     Even  as  late    as  1860  we 


THE   GERMAiV  NOVEL  235 

recognize  in  Oswald  Stein,  the  hero  of  Spielhagen's 
novel,  "Problematic  Characters,"  the  features  of 
Wilhelm  Meister  modified  by  the  experiences  of 
more  than  half  a  century.  In  fact,  the  hero  who  re- 
bels has  always  been  popular  in  Germany,  possibly 
because  Germany,  with  its  musty  police  atmosphere 
and  its  all-devouring  army,  affords  a  large  variety  of 
occasions  for  legitimate  rebellion. 

Among  those  who  had  a  special  grievance  against 
reality,  the  members  of  the  so-called  Romantic 
School  were  the  most  persistent  and  vociferous. 
They  were,  however,  far  from  accepting  Goethe's 
solution  of  the  problem  which  puts  the  fantastic 
hero  in  the  wrong  and  treats  his  quarrel  with  reality 
as  the  result  of  youthful  arrogance  and  an  undis- 
ciplined fancy.  To  the  romanticist  the  endeavor 
to  escape  from  the  prosaic  routine  of  life  seemed 
highly  commendable,  and  the  peripatetic  hero  who 
strolls  about  the  world,  in  imitation  of  Wilhelm 
Meister,  in  search  of  culture  and  refined  enjo3'ments, 
is  usually  rewarded  by  finding  a  shadow,  at  least,  of 
what  he  seeks.  The  eudsemouist  who  consciously 
pursues  happiness  as  an  aim  is  always  reprobated 
by  Goethe  and  finds  the  object  of  his  quest,  if  at  all, 
only  after  he  has  abandoned  his  search  for  it.  With 
the  romanticists,  on  the  other  hand,  literature  was 
so  largely  a  mere  play  of  unfettered  imagination 
that  fidelity  to  fact  and  the  logical  sequence  of 
cause  and  effect  seemed  a  matter  of  small  conse- 
quence. Thus  in  Novalis's  "  The  Disciples  of  Sais," 
which  was  intended  as  a  protest  against  the  sordid 


236  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

philosophy  of  "  "Wilhelm  Meister,"  we  move  in  the 
upper  spheres  of  allegorical  mysteries  where  miracles 
are  every-day  affairs  and  where  reality  is  only  per- 
ceived as  a  distant  hum,  far  down  in  the  depth  be- 
low. Franz,  in  "Sternbald's  Wanderings,"  by  Lud- 
wig  Tieck,  is  another  aesthetic  hero  of  the  romantic 
variety,  who  roams  about  in  the  "moon-illumined 
magic  night,"  sings  songs  on  very  slight  provoca- 
tion, indulges  in  hot,  confidential  heart-effusions 
with  every  man  he  chances  to  meet,  and  altogether 
has  the  queerest  and  most  unforeseen  things  happen 
to  him.  It  takes  very  little  to  make  this  style  of 
hero  rapturous ;  only  his  raptures  are  as  unreal  as 
he  is  himself.  When  imagination  soars  so  high 
above  the  solid  ground  of  fact,  there  is  no  longer 
any  limit  to  its  excesses  ;  everything  becomes  arbi- 
trary and  as  such  devoid  of  interest. 

Among  the  many  novels  which,  with  occasional 
reminiscences  of  "  Wilhelm  Meister,"  reflect  certain 
typical  conditions  of  mind  during  the  first  half  of 
the  present  century,  Gutzkow's  "  Ritter  vom  Geist " 
occupies  a  prominent  place.  The  Knights  of  the 
Spirit  are  a  secret  brotherhood,  reminding  one  of 
the  curious  freemasonry  of  culture,  in  which  Wil- 
helm Meister  derived  so  much  benefit  from  hobnob- 
bing with  noblemen.  These  knights  have  a  suspi- 
cion that  somewhere  in  the  universe,  and  partic- 
ularly in  Germany,  something  or  other  is  wrong, 
and  that  it  is  their  mission  in  some  way  or  other  to 
set  it  right.  For  this  purpose  they  unite  in  a  secret 
order,  the  members  of  which  style  themselves  be- 


THE   GERMAN  NOVEL  237 

lievers  in  the  progressive  development  of  humanity, 
independently  of  religion,  morality,  and  the  state. 
That  such  a  confused  proposition  could  seriously  be 
advocated  by  an  author  of  Gutzkow's  reputation  is 
in  itself  sufficiently  startling,  and  that  a  large  num- 
ber of  people  could  be  induced  to  peruse  with  edifi- 
cation the  nine  volumes  in  which  this  vast  and  misty 
scheme  is  made  still  mistier,  bespeaks  even  greater 
heroism  in  the  German  mind  than  had  been  sus- 
pected. To  account  for  this  strange  phenomenon, 
one  must  bear  in  mind  that  the  illuminati  craze 
had  taken  possession  of  the  age  ;  and  the  expecta- 
tion to  accomplish  the  amelioration  of  the  lot  of 
man  through  the  agency  of  secret  orders  devoted 
to  schemes  of  mysterious  benevolence,  pervaded  all 
the  upper  ranks  of  society.  Hence,  the  enormous 
extension  of  Freemasonry  during  this  period,  and 
the  influence  of  brazen  impostors  like  Cagliostro, 
who  did  not  scruple  to  take  advantage  of  the 
universal  credulity.  Nevertheless,  the  so-called 
**  Young-German "  movement,  in  which  Gutzkow 
took  a  conspicuous  part,  had  other  excuses  for  being 
than  that  of  sharing  in  many  of  the  Utopian  delu- 
sions of  the  age.  It  was  as  the  spokesmen  of  the 
opposition  to  the  political  and  religious  reaction 
which  swept  over  Germany  after  the  downfall  of 
Napoleon  that  the  Young-German  authors  gained 
public  favor ;  and  in  this  capacity  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  they  accomplished  much  good.  The 
German  people  are  too  prone  to  acquiesce  in  what 
seems  inevitable  ;  and  political  dissenters,  however 


238  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

fantastic  and  wrong-headed,  are,  in  Germany,  never 
without  value.  The  Young-Germans  were  reckless 
iconoclasts,  but  in  arousing  opposition  to  the  per- 
fidious policy  of  the  Holy  Alliance,  they  did  an  ex- 
cellent work.  Even  though  in  the  novel  Ihey  pro- 
duced no  masterpiece,  they  ■  certainly  have,  in  their 
own  confused  idealism,  portrayed  the  confused  ideal- 
ism of  the  time  ;  and  in  the  lofty  phrase-making  of 
their  heroes  and  their  impotence  in  action,  they  have 
faithfully  reflected  a  spirit,  the  proper  apprehension 
of  which  will  supply  the  key  to  an  age  during  which 
an  insolent  mediocrity  like  Metternich  was  the 
representative  man  in  Europe. 

The  later  developments  of  the  German  novel  will 
be  the  subject  of  a  separate  article.  Freytag  and 
Spielhagen  have  taken  up  the  problem  of  "  Wilhelm 
Meister  "  in  an  interesting  series  of  novels,  and  have 
carried  the  conflict  between  feudalism  and  indus- 
trialism down  to  a  more  recent  date.  They  have 
eliminated  to  a  great  extent  the  fantastic  element 
which  enters  so  largely  into  every  work  of  the  eigh- 
teenth centuiy,  and  have  planted  the  novel  more 
securely  in  the  soil  of  every-day  reality.  The  phil- 
osophical spirit  is  still  predominant  in  the  works  of 
Berthold  Auerbach,  whose  "Black  Forest  Village 
Tales  "  and  "  On  the  Heights  "  have  gained  a  M-ell- 
deserved  popularity  for  their  author  on  both  sides  of 
the  Atlantic.  More  uncompromisingly  realistic  are 
the  novels  of  Fritz  Renter,  whose  skilful  blending 
of  humor  and  pathos  is  scarcely  surpassed  by  any 
contemporary   writer.     Of  all   German  authors  he 


THE   GERMAN  NOVEL  239 

has  broken  most  completely  with  the  romantic  tra- 
dition, and  his  "  Onkel  Brasig"  and  the  whole  splen- 
did gallery  of  Stavenhagen  portraits  represent,  per- 
haps, in  the  direction  of  realism,  the  latest  results  of 
the  evolution  of  Teutonic  fiction. 

If  I  were  to  sum  up  in  a  single  paragraph  the 
development  of  the  German  novel,  I  should  say  that 
it  commenced  with  the  miraculous,  progressed  to 
the  possible,  thence  to  the  probable  and  the  normal ; 
though  I  am  forced  to  admit  that  this  evolution  is, 
as  yet,  by  no  means  completed. 

The  novelist  of  the  seventeenth  century  asked  him- 
self, in  regard  to  the  incidents  of  his  plot :  "  Could 
they  have  happened  ?  "  The  novelist  of  to-day  puts 
the  question  :  "  Are  they  likely  to  happen  ?  "  The 
novelist  of  the  future  will  not  be  satisfied  unless  he 
can  prove  to  himself  that,  his  premises  given,  nothing 
else  could  have  happened.  The  German  novelists, 
however,  have  not  yet  caught  up  with  this  modem 
movement ;  they  linger  yet  on  the  borderland  of  the 
sensational. 


IX. 

STUDIES  OF  THE  GERMAN  NOVEL 

GOETHE'S  "  Wilhelm  Meister,"  though  it  prop- 
erly belongs  to  the  eighteenth  century,  struck 
the  tey-note  of  a  theme  which  the  novelists  of  modern 
Germany  have  ever  since  been  content  to  vaiy.  Gutz- 
kow,  Freytag,  Spielhagen,  and  more  indirectly  Fritz 
Eeuter  and  Auerbach,  have  all  oflfered  their  expositions 
(I  would  not  say  solutions)  of  this  vital  problem,  viz., 
the  conflict  between  the  feudalism  of  the  past  and  the 
industrial  spirit  of  the  present.  As  feudalism  is  more 
powerfully  intrenched  in  Germany  than  in  any  other 
European  country,  and  the  conflict  accordingly  as- 
sumes an  acuter  form,  it  is  natural  enough  that  the 
novelists  should  fight  the  battle  of  the  age  with  such 
weapons  and  powers  as  they  have  at  their  command. 
But,  even  apart  from  this  consideration,  it  is  not  to 
be  denied  that  problems  of  this  order  possess  a  pe- 
culiar attraction  to  the  national  mind.  The  move- 
ment of  history,  the  conflict  of  social  forces,  which 
year  by  year  imperceptibly  modify  the  character  and 
the  relations  of  men — these  are  the  tilings  which  to 
the  German  novelist  appear  most  worthy  of  his  at- 
tention.    A  merely  piquant  intrigue,   affording  no 


STUDIES  OF  THE   GERMAN  NOVEL      24I 

chances  for  historic  outlook  or  illustration  of  social 
problems,  he  relegates  to  what  he  calls  "  die  Nov- 
elle"  i.e.,  the  short  story.  Take  any  one  of  the 
eminent  German  novelists — Spielhagen,  Freytag, 
Auerbach — and  this  predilection  for  large  problems 
is  everywhere  manifest.  A  pronounced  philosoph- 
ical bias  is  perceptible  in  every  one  of  them,  and  it 
would  be  an  easy  thing  to  reconstriict  each  one's 
philosophy  of  life  from  his  writings.  This  is,  to  be 
sure,  to  a  certain  extent  possible  in  the  case  of  every 
author  of  mature  convictions,  unless  he  happens  to 
be  as  severely  objective  as  Tourgueneff  or  Prosper 
Merimee,  whose  opinions,  though  scarcely  to  be  in- 
ferred from  his  writings,  have  nevertheless  leaked 
out  through  his  correspondence.  I  think,  howevei", 
that  it  is  capable  of  demonstration  that  a  German 
author  rarely  rests  satisfied  until  he  has  equipped 
himself  with  a  "  philosophy  " — until  he  has  acquired 
definite  convictions  concerning  a  thousand  things 
which  a  Frenchman  or  an  Englishman  is  willing  to 
leave  to  the  decision  of  those  whom  they  may  con- 
cern. A  certain  irrepressible  tendency  toward  phil- 
osophical generalization  is  therefore  perceptible  in 
the  great  majority  of  German  novels,  especially  those 
of  the  Young-German  period.  Among  the  moderns, 
Auerbach  is  especially  brimming  over  with  convic- 
tions, and  frequently,  as  in  "  The  Villa  on  tlie 
Khine,"  forgets  that  he  has  a  story  to  tell,  flings 
away  his  mask  and  preaches  Spinozism  tn  propria 
jyersona.  Spielhagen  possesses  much  more  artistic 
self-restraint,  and  his  social  philosophy  is  only  to  be 


242  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

infeiTed  from  the  general  drift  of  his  plots,  and  an 
occasional  little  panegyric  which  he  pronounces 
upon  the  remains  of  his  democratic  heroes  who 
have  sacrificed  then*  lives  upon  the  barricades.  And 
yet  I  know  of  no  English  novelist  except  George 
Eliot  whose  views  upon  any  vital  question  I  could 
with  equal  certainty  infer. 

This  philosophic  attitude  toward  the  centmy  is 
one  of  the  chief  characteristics  of  Gustav  Freytag's 
famous  novel,  "  Debit  and  Credit."  The  author 
possesses  a  profound  comprehension  of  the  indus- 
trial revolution  of  the  century,  and  a  beautiful  con- 
sistency of  sentiment  pervades  all  his  later  writings. 
And  this  consistency  is  the  result,  not  of  impulse  or 
of  hereditary  bias,  but  of  matui-e  culture  and  labori- 
ous thought.  There  is  something  admirable,  too, 
in  the  ruthlessness  with  which  he  carries  out  the 
philosophical  purpose  in  every  detail  of  his  work, 
enforcing  his  moral,  not  in  preaching,  but  in  the 
inexorable  sequence  and  logic  of  his  fictitious  events. 
There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  old  feudal  civiliza- 
tion, with  its  patriarchal  relations,  its  pomp  and  cir- 
cumstance, was  a  far  more  picturesque  affair  than 
the  barren  and  colorless  industrialism  which  is  now 
driving  the  nobleman  from  his  inherited  acres  and 
giving  the  merchant  the  weightiest  vote  in  the  coun- 
cils of  state.  Thus  Baron  Eothsattel,  in  "Debit 
and  Credit,"  is  a  much  more  vivid  and  interesting 
personage  than  his  unconscious  opponent,  Mr.  T.  O. 
Schroter,  the  wholesale  grocer,  whose  sober  indus- 
try and  minute  adaptation  of  means  to  ends  make 


STUDIES   OF  THE    GERMAN  NOVEL      243 

him  the  predestined  survivor  in  the  social  struggle. 
The  author  is  perfectly  weli  aware  that  the  Baron 
would  conduct  himself  in  most  relations  of  life  with 
the  greater  dignity,  and  be  altogether  a  more  agree- 
able companion  than  the  merchant ;  but  he  is 
equally  well  aware  that  Fate  has  small  regard  for 
picturesque  advantages,  and  that  the  struggle  for 
existence  is  not  decided  by  sentimental  considera- 
tions. He  has,  indeed,  a  lurking  predilection  for 
the  nobleman,  and  it  goes,  no  doubt,  hard  with  him 
to  sacrifice  him  ;  but  the  more  praise  he  deserves 
for  adhering  so  rigidly  to  his  purpose,  and  complet- 
ing his  picture  with  such  exclusive  regard  for  the 
logic  of  reality. 

"  The  German  novel,"  says  the  literary  historian, 
Julian  Schmidt,  "  must  seek  the  German  people, 
where  alone  it  is  to  be  found,  viz.,  at  its  labor." 
This  proposition,  which  Freytag  has  quoted  with 
approbation,  expresses  another  important  change 
which  the  German  novel  has  undergone  during  the 
present  generation.  We  all  know  that  labor  is  apt 
to  be  dry,  and  has  neither  the  piquant  nor  the  pict- 
flresque  qualities  upon  which  a  novel  relies  for  its 
interest.  It  is  only  when  a  man  has  leisure  that  he 
can  go  in  search  of  gallant  adventures,  or  surrender 
himself  to  emotions  which  may  arouse  the  sympathy 
of  tender  readers.  The  novelists  have  therefore 
always  shown  a  preference  for  the  rich  man,  whether 
he  be  a  jxirvenu  or  of  noble  birth,  and  the  toilers 
have,  as  a  rule,  been  assigned  inferior  roles,  figuring 
as  rascals  or  comic  characters,  or  as  mere  "  supers." 


244  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

The  business  of  life,  as  the  majority  of  novelists  rep- 
resent it,  is  enjoyment,  excitement,  or  at  best  self- 
development.  In  "  Willielm  Meister "  it  was  the 
latter,  but  it  was  to  be  acquired  by  association  with 
men  of  wealth  and  station  who  were  free  from  the 
narrow  prejudices  of  the  toiling  Philistine  world. 
In  order  to  enable  his  hero  to  enjoy  this  advantage, 
Goethe  makes  him  spend  his  time  in  directing  the 
amusements  of  a  company  of  noble  idlers,  and  it 
hardly  seems  to  have  occuired  to  him  what  an  un- 
dignified occupation  this  was  for  a  young  gentleman 
with  ideal  aspirations  and  in  search  of  "  harmonious 
culture."  Goethe,  with  all  his  clear-sightedness  in 
the  abstract,  was  too  deeply  imbued  with  respect  for 
the  nobility  to  perceive  that  there  was  anything  anom- 
alous in  this  instinctive  subordination  of  the  citizen 
to  the  nobleman.  Very  likely  he  had  his  reasons 
for  thinking  so,  and  in  a  certain  way  he  was  right. 
In  the  feudal  organization  of  the  state,  and  while 
society  is  yet  semi-militant,  the  nobleman  fulfils  an 
important  function  and  is  entitled  to  a  correspond- 
ing respect ;  but,  as  society  emerges  from  the  state 
of  militancy,  the  function  which  he  performs  will 
be  less  and  less  needed,  and  the  only  salvation  for 
the  representatives  of  feudalism  in  the  modern  state 
is,  therefore,  to  abandon  their  claims  to  superiority 
and  engage  in  industrial  pursuits.  It  is  this  very 
thing  which  Rothsattel  attempts  to  do  in  "Debit 
and  Credit,"  but,  as  he  has  had  no  training  for  busi- 
ness, and  moreover  possesses  no  criterion  for  the 
judgment  of  men  except  their  deference  to  himself, 


STUDIES   OF  THE   GERMAN  NOVEL      245 

he  is  cheated  on  all  sides  and  precipitates  his  ruin 
by  the  very  means  by  which  he  had  hoped  to  re- 
estabUsh  his  position  in  the  state.  He  cannot  con- 
descend, Uke  that  unpicturesque  toiler,  T.  O. 
Schroter,  to  investigate  his  own  ledgers  and  see  that 
the  accounts  tally  ;  nor  can  he  bear  to  give  his  con- 
fidence to  an  upright  and  honest  man  with  a  fair  de- 
gree of  self-respect.  It  wounds  his  pride  to  have  a 
citizen  behave  frankly  and  independently  in  his 
presence,  and  in  order  to  save  this  inherited  pride 
he  turns  from  the  honest  and  self-respecting  mer- 
chant to  an  obsequious  Jew,  who  fleeces  him  with 
the  deepest  of  bows  and  chuckles  to  himself,  while 
he  draws  his  toils  about  him. 

According  to  Freytag,  it  is  labor  which  in  the  end 
gives  a  man  the  upper  hand  in  the  struggle  for  ex- 
istence ;  and  it  is  interesting  to  note  how  he  has 
succeeded  in  investing  the  various  mercantile  trans- 
actions of  the  house  of  T.  O.  Schroter  and  the  es- 
tablishment of  Rothsattel's  factory  with  a  human 
interest.  The  fates  of  the  characters  for  whom  we 
feel  so  lively  a  sympathy  are  so  intimately  inter- 
woven with  these  transactions  that  it  is  impossible 
not  to  follow  them  with  anxious  suspense.  Even  the 
young  nobleman  Fink,  who  has  imbibed  a  fair  share 
of  the  military  traditions  of  his  ancestors,  sees  him- 
self forced  to  enter  the  office  of  the  wholesale  grocer, 
and,  gradually  conquering  his  somewhat  volatile 
nature,  adapts  himself  to  the  changed  requirements 
of  the  age.  He  has  been  in  the  United  States, 
where  he  has  had  occasion  to  rid  himself  of  manv  of 


246  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

his  noble  prejudices  and  has  learned  the  art  to  help 
himself.  This  man,  e.g.  the  man  of  birth  and  bi-ains 
and  devoid  of  prejudice,  is,  according  to  oui- author, 
the  heir  of  the  future.  He  is,  at  all  events,  the  suc- 
cessor in  the  industrial  state  to  the  defunct  noble- 
man of  the  past.  This  is,  in  fact,  the  solution  of  the 
problem  presented  b}'  nearly  all  the  German  novel- 
ists who  have  dealt  with  it.  The  homo  novus — the 
pure  plebeian — they  are  unable  to  stomach.  And 
yet  whoever  reads  the  signs  of  the  times  aright  will 
risk  the  prophecy  that  the  man  without  ancestors 
will  probably  secure  the  lion's  share  in  the  heritage 
of  the  future. 

In  his  endeavor  to  depict  the  German  people  at 
its  labor,  Freytag  has  not  confined  himself  to  mer- 
cantile toil.  Besides  commerce,  a  large  portion  of 
the  German  nation  is  also  devoted  to  scholarly  labor. 
This  is  a  branch  of  labor  in  which  the  Germans  have 
reached  the  highest  excellence  ;  and  a  novelist  who, 
like  Freytag,  is  familiar  with  all  its  joys  and  trials 
could  scarcely  fail  to  extract  from  it  a  great  amount 
of  entertainment.  The  novel  "The  Lost  Manu- 
script," which  deals  with  the  search  of  Professor 
Werner  for  the  lost  books  of  Tacitus,  is,  to  my  mind, 
one  of  the  most  delightful  books  in  the  German 
language.  The  adorable  Dse  whom  the  Professor 
finds  instead  of  the  lost  Tacitus  is  the  historic  Ger- 
man maiden,  a  modem  Thusnelda  in  the  bud,  in 
whom  repose  in  half-slumber  all  the  heroic  possi- 
bilities of  the  German  mind.  Modem  civilized  life, 
to  be  sure,  rarely  calls  for  the  kind  of  heroism  that 


STUDIES  OF  THE   GERMAN  NOVEL      24/ 

the  Teutonic  woman  exhibited  at  the  battle  ot 
Aix,  but  in  the  emergencies  which  arise  in  Use's 
life,  of  which  some,  indeed,  are  of  a  mediaeval 
character,  she  shows  herself  a  worthy  daughter  of 
those  ancestresses  whom  Tacitus  glorified  in  his 
"Germania."  Vividly  dipicted  is  also  the  Profes- 
sor's deepening  absorption  in  his  search  which  leads 
him  to  neglect  his  young  wife  and  fail  to  perceive 
the  dishonorable  designs  of  the  prince  in  whom  Use's 
beauty  has  enkindled  a  baleful  passion.  Of  scarcely 
less  interest  to  the  scholar,  though  perhaps  a  little 
tedious  to  the  general  reader,  is  the  description  of 
the  various  parasitical  growths  which  flourish  upon 
the  vigorous  trunk  of  the  German  tree  of  knowl- 
edge; particularly  Magister  Knix,  the  forger  of 
ancient  manuscripts,  who  comes  within  a  hair  of 
wrecking  a  noble  reputation.  All  these  complica- 
tions, dealing  with  the  inner  struggles  and  the  outer 
vicissitudes  of  an  existence  devoted  to  scholarly  in- 
vestigation, form  in  their  ensemble  a  picture  of  Ger- 
man university  life  which  no  later  chronicler  has  so 
far  rivaled. 

The  long  series,  "The  Ancestors"  ("Die  Ahnen"), 
which  Freytag  has  not  j^et  completed,  undertakes 
to  trace  the  historic  physiognomy  of  the  German 
people  in  its  gradual  transformations  from  the  earli- 
est period  down  to  the  present  time.  He  selects  for 
this  purpose  one  typically  German  family,  whicli  he 
follows  from  generation  to  generation,  noting  the 
changes  of  customs,  manners,  and  sentiments  in 
each  successive  asre. 


248  GERMAN'  LITERATURE 

The  action  in  "Ingo  and  Ingraban"  plays  in  tiiat 
legendary  twilight  which  precedes  the  dawn  of  au- 
thentic history  and  centres  in  two  distinct  tales,  the 
second  of  which  deals  with  the  conversion  of  the 
Germans  to  Christianity.  There  is  something  a  trifle 
labored  in  the  style,  and  a  kind  of  learned  con- 
scientiousness which  restrains  the  free  movement  of 
the  plot  and  interferes  with  the  reader's  pleasure. 
The  same  is  true,  though  in  a  lesser  degree,  of  "  The 
Nest  of  the  Wrens,"  which  describes  entertainingly 
the  extravagant  woman  worship  and  other  affectations 
of  the  Minnesingers.  "  The  Brothers  of  the  German 
House  "  contains  a  vivid  study  of  the  period  of  the 
Hohenstaufens  (1226)  and  the  social  conditions  pre- 
vailing at  the  time  of  the  Crusades.  "Markus 
Konig  "  is  a  story  of  the  time  of  the  Reformation, 
and  in  the  person  of  Georg,  a  son  of  the  grand- 
master of  the  Order  of  German  Knights,  represents 
the  conflict  between  the  new  religion  and  the  old. 
"  Die  Geschwister  "  ("  The  Brother  and  Sister  ")  con- 
tains really  two  novels,  the  first  of  which,  "Cavalry 
Captain  von  Alt-Rosen  "  (1647)  gives  an  extremely 
effective  picture  of  the  moral  and  physical  devasta- 
tion wrought  by  the  Thirty  Years'  War.  The  second, 
"  The  Volunteer  Corporal  at  the  Margrave  Albrecht," 
extends  into  the  eighteenth  century  and  furnishes 
interesting  pictures  of  Prussian  military  life  and  the 
methods  by  which  Frederic  William  I.  laid  the 
foundations  of  the  Prussian  state.  But  altogether, 
though  much  research  and  no  mean  gift  of  nar- 
ration are   displayed  in  this   elaborate  series,  the 


STUDIES   OF  THE   GERMAN  NOVEL      249 

reader  is  frequently  reminded  of  Goethe's  dictum 
concerning  historical  scholarship : 

' '  The  ages  of  the  past 
Are  now  a  book  with  seven  seals  protected  ; 
What  you  the  Spirit  of  the  Ages  call 
Is  notliing  but  the  spirit  of  you  all 
Wherein  the  ages  are  reflected." 

A  firmer  place  than  Freytag  in  the  affection  of 
transatlantic  readers  had  Berthold  Auerbach,  whose 
death  in  1882  we  have  scarcely  ceased  to  lament. 
His  novel,  "On  the  Heights,"  made  the  round  of  the 
world  and  carried  its  author's  reputation  to  the  an- 
tipodes. And  yet,  ungracious  as  the  assertion  may 
seem,  this  book  shows  plainly  enough  that  Auerbach 
was  not  an  integral  part  of  the  nation  which  he  un- 
dertook to  describe,  and  could  not,  however  much 
he  yearned  to  do  so,  feel  entirely  as  it  felt,  and  de- 
pict from  the  inside  its  sentiments  and  experiences. 
Of  the  keenest  exterior  observation  "On  the  Heights " 
gives  abundant  evidence,  but  all  the  figures,  even 
the  sturdy  Walpurga  and  her  Hansei,  are  more  or 
less  "  sicklied  o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought." 
There  is  a  still,  small  voice  whispering,  half  uuper- 
ceived,  through  every  one  of  them,  and  that  voice  is 
Berthold  Auerbach,  or  rather  Berthold  Auerbach's 
idol,  Spinoza.  Walpurga  and  Hansei  certainly  dis- 
play a  marvellous  degree  of  religious  toleration — a 
most  unusual  characteristic,  as  everyone  will  admit, 
among  peasants  —  and  a  freedom  from  prejudice 
which  they  could  never  have  acquired  except  by 


250  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

passing  througli  tlie  Spinozistic  mind  of  Aueibach. 
Old  Count  Eberliard,  too,  seems  to  have  deiived  his 
hard-won  wisdom  from  the  same  source,  and  Colonel 
Brounen  and  Dr.  Gunther —  in  fact  everyone  whom 
the  author  regards  as  admirable — have  all  drunk, 
whether  avowedly  or  not,  from  the  pure  fount  of 
Spinoza.  Now  there  is,  to  my  mind,  no  donbt  that 
Sjiinoza  is  the  greatest  philosopher  of  modern  times, 
and  that  Hegel,  Fichte,  and  even  Kant  have  in  no 
such  mannei",  by  pure  inductive  reasoning,  antici- 
pated the  conclusions  of  modern  scientific  thought. 
He  unquestionably  deserves  all  the  admiration  wliicb 
Auerbach  bestows  upon  him.  But  for  all  that,  one 
may  question  the  wisdom  of  making  propaganda  for 
him  in  a  novel,  especially  when  the  value  of  the  novel, 
as  a  work  of  art,  is  thereby  perceptibly  injured. 
Auerbach,  as  those  who  had  the  good  fortune  to 
know  him  are  aware,  habitually  breathed  this  i*are- 
fied  ether  of  philosophic  thought,  and  with  the 
clear-sightedness  and  freedom  from  prejudice  of  an 
"emancipated"  Jew  he  viewed  the  world  frankly 
through  this  medium.  Apparently  he  did  not  dis- 
cover until  a  few  months  before  his  death  how  iso- 
lated his  position  was  on  these  upper  altitudes  of  the 
mind,  and  how  far  removed  even  the  cultured  classes 
in  Germany  were  from  that  serene  and  unbiassed 
attitude  with  which  he  had  credited  them.  "  But 
my  God  ! "  he  exclaimed  to  an  American  friend  on  his 
return  from  the  Spinoza  festival  in  Holland,  where 
the  mob  could  scarcely  be  restrained  from  attack- 
ing him,  "  here  I  have  labored  for  the  German  people 


STUDIES  OF  THE    GERMAN  NOVEL      25 1 

unweariedly  for  nearly  fifty  years,  and  this  is  what  I 
get  for  it.  Is  it  not  terrible  ?  "  He  seemed  utterly 
broken  in  spirit ;  and  it  is  the  common  opinion 
among  his  friends  that  the  "  Judenhetze  "  killed  him. 
He  had  contemplated  humanity  serenely  and  with 
kindly  interest  through  his  clear  Spinozistic  specta- 
cles ;  and  he  had  not  been  aware  that  humanity  had 
all  the  while  viewed  him  through  a  pair  of  intensely 
colored  mediaeval  glasses.  No  wonder  the  discovery 
was  a  shock  to  him.  It  was  a  pity  he  could  not  have 
anticipated  in  spirit  Spielhagen's  noble  tribute  to 
his  memory.  It  would  have  brightened  his  dying 
hour. 

It  is  yet  too  soon  after  Auerbach's  death  to  form 
any  conjecture  as  to  what  posterity's  estimate  will 
be  of  his  work.  Of  course  posterity  will  drop  nine 
out  of  every  ten  of  our  present  immortals  ;  and  I  can 
hardly  suppress  the  conviction  that  Auerbach  will 
not  be  among  the  latest  survivors.  He  was  not  a 
sufficiently  pronounced  representative  of  anytliing 
(unless  it  be  Spinozism)  to  survive  as  the  exponent 
of  any  particular  school  of  thought  or  the  chronicler 
of  any  particular  phase  of  civilization.  Spielhagen 
and  Freytag  have  depicted  the  age,  as  it  shapes  it- 
self in  Germany,  much  more  objectively  and  with  a 
deeper  knowledge  of  national  characteristics.  "  On 
the  Heights  "  is  a  book  of  great  ability  and  with  a 
moving  and  beautifully  developed  plot.  Neverthe- 
less it  seems  already  now  old-fashioned.  There  is  a 
subcurrent  of  didacticism  in  it  which  airests  and 
often  breaks  the  narrative.     The  characters  occasion* 


252  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

ally  fall  out  of  their  r6les  and  preach  wisdom  that  is 
much  beyond  them.  The  same  thing  occurs  again 
and  again  in  the  "  Black  Forest  Village  Tales  ; "  for 
instance,  in  the  jourual  of  the  village  school-master, 
"TheLauterbacher,"  and  the  philosophical  disquisi- 
tions of  the  rebelHous  peasant  Lucian  in  "  Lucifer." 
What  Auerbach  has  contributed  to  German  litera- 
ture is  chiefly  his  own  noble  personality,  and  no  one 
will  deny  that  this  is  a  valuable  contribution.  He 
has  illustrated  himself,  and  distributed  disguised 
counterfeits  of  himself  in  all  his  works,  and  in  their 
ensemble  these  form  a  most  interesting  individuality. 
On  the  Galton  plan  of  "  composite  portraiture  "  the 
resulting  "  pictorial  average  "  of  the  whole  Auerbach 
gallery  would  be  Auerbach  himself.  To  a  certain 
extent  this  may  perhaps  be  asserted  of  every  promi- 
nent author.  I  question,  however,  if  it  be  true  of  the 
very  greatest.  Neither  Tourguenefif  nor  Thackeray 
could  be  successfully  reconstructed  from  the  types 
which  they  have  created,  even  though  the  latter  re- 
veals himself  freely  enough  in  his  marginal  com- 
ments. 

It  is  a  notable  fact  that  the  latest  school  of  novel- 
writing,  of  which  Zola  is  the  most  aggressive  repre- 
sentative, has  as  yet  made  no  conspicuous  convei-t  in 
Geimany.  Spielhagen  has  in  one  of  his  latest  books, 
"  Theorie  und  Technik  des  Romans,"  entered  a  for- 
mal protest  against  the  tendencies  of  the  naturalistic 
school,  without,  however,  denying  the  ability  which 
is  expended  in  its  service.  And  when  Spielhagen, 
who  is  the  most   radical  thinker  amoner   German 


STUDIES  OF  THE   GERMAN  NOVEL      253 

authors,  judges  in  this  way,  it  is  safe  to  conclude 
that  the  others,  with  the  possible  exception  of  Paul 
Heyse,  are  even  severer  in  their  judgment.  But 
Spielhagen's  radicalism  appears  to  be  based  upon 
philosophical  convictions  which  antedate  the  scien- 
tific developments  of  recent  years.  Moreover,  his 
method,  which  he  has  in  the  above-named  book  ex- 
haustively explained  and  accounted  for,  was  already 
formed,  and  like  a  well  -  constructed  tool,  is  admir- 
ably adapted  for  his  purpose.  No  wonder,  then, 
that  he  should  look  askance  at  the  innovations  of  a 
fanatic  iconoclast  and  denunciator  like  Zola.  That 
he  is  likewise,  in  his  estimate  of  Daudet,  disposed 
to  be  unsympathetic  is,  I  think,  due  to  a  certain 
temperamental  dislike  for  the  frivolous  conception 
of  life  and  the  apparently  shallow  solutions  of  the 
social  problems  with  which  the  French  authors  are 
apt  to  content  themselves.  Spielhagen  would  prob- 
ably be  disinclined  to  subscribe  to  Mr.  Charles  Dud- 
ley Warner's  proposition,  that  the  prime  requisite  of 
the  novel  is  that  it  should  entei"tain  ;  nor  do  I  sup- 
pose that  he  would  be  entirely  satisfied  with  Mr. 
James's  emendation,  that  its  object  should  be  to 
represent  life.  He  would,  of  course,  admit  that  it 
ought  to  do  both  ;  but  in  his  hands  the  definition 
undergoes  a  further  and  very  characteristic  enlai-ge- 
ment.  The  business  of  novelists,  he  says  ("  Theorie 
und  Technik  des  Romans,"  p.  262)  is :  "Weltbilder 
aufzustellen — Bilder  ihres  Volkes  und  seiner  Stre- 
bungen  in  einem  gewissen  Zeitabschnitt ;"  e.g.^  to 
give  world-pictures — pictures  of  theii*  nation  and  its 


254  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

aspirations  during  a  certain  period.  The  personal 
episode,  then,  in  Spielhagen  is  related  primarily  with 
a  view  to  illustrate  the  national  problems  and  aspir- 
ations at  a  certain  period.  It  is  necessary  to  bear 
this  proposition  in  mind  if  one  is  to  do  full  justice 
to  Spielhagen's  literary  activity.  From  his  very  first 
work  until  the  last  he  has  been  faithful  to  the  large 
pui-pose  which  he  has  here  enunciated,  and  the  pro- 
found pleasure  which  I  have  found  in  reading  his 
works  is  perhaps  also  due  to  the  fact  that  I  have 
recognized  their  typical  quality  and  their  direct 
bearing  upon  the  great  questions  which  agitate  the 
century.  One  may  agree  or  disagree,  accept  or  re- 
ject his  solutions  of  these  problems,  but  his  strong 
and  earnest  voice  will  never  fail  to  stimulate  one's 
thought  and  rouse  one  from  the  indolent  lethargy 
which  the  fatalistic  philosophy  of  modern  life  in- 
duces. The  reason  why  his  novels  have  never 
gained  the  popularity  here  that  was  freely  accorded 
to  Auerbach  is  scarcely  far  to  seek.  They  were  too 
serious  for  the  average  American  reader,  who  cares 
little  for  the  problems  which,  as  he  flatters  himself, 
merely  concern  the  effete  monarchies  ;  and,  unhap- 
pily, popularity  can  never  be  obtained  except  from 
the  average  reader.  The  people  who  wept  over  the 
cheap  sentimentalism  of  Marlit  and  Werner  found 
little  to  appeal  to  them  in  the  tragic  perspective  and 
uncompromising  logic  of  such  works  as  "  Problema- 
tic Characters,"  "In  Bank  and  File,"  and  "Hammer 
and  Anvil."  We  are  so  unaccustomed  to  look  for 
any  deeper  historic  significance  in  the  plots  of  our 


STUDIES   OF  THE   GERMAN  NOVEL      255 

own  novelists,  that  we  occasionally  fail  to  perceive  it 
even  where  it  exists.  That  larger  vision  which  sees 
not  only  incidents  and  personal  relations,  but  recog- 
nizes their  bearing  upon  the  grand  social  move- 
ments of  the  century,  is  extremely  rare  among  us — 
is  in  fact  extremely  rare  everywhere.  But  it  is  just 
this  vision  which  distinguishes  Spielhagen  among 
German  authoi-s,  and  which  would  make  his  popu- 
larity problematic  among  any  people  less  thoughtful 
than  the  Germans.  Freytag,  as  I  have  endeavored 
to  show,  possesses  the  same  gift  in  an  eminent  de- 
gree, and  altogether  a  tendency  to  philosophic  gen- 
eralization may  be  said  to  be  a  national  characteristic. 
The  German  critic  looks  for  it  as  naturally  as  our 
own  remains  blind  to  it ;  and  he  judges  the  value  of 
a  novel,  cceteris  panbus,  by  its  presence  or  absence, 
by  the  relevancy  of  its  types,  and  by  the  consistency 
with  which  its  philosophical  purpose  is  carried  out. 
It  is  particularly  perceptible  how,  since  the  re- 
establishment  of  the  empire  and  the  centralization 
of  the  national  life  in  Berlin,  the  novelist  has,  in 
this  respect,  gained  an  advantage  which  during  the 
old  scattered  condition  he  must  have  missed.  Ber- 
lin is  now  the  only  city  in  Germany  which,  in  the 
American  sense  of  the  Avord,  is  alive,  and  all  the 
other  little  capitals  where  petty  courts  reside  have 
sunk  into  absolute  insignificance.  Nevertheless,  it 
was  from  the  narrow  horizon  of  Weimar  that  Goethe 
contemplated  the  great  panorama  of  the  centuiy, 
and  the  influence  of  the  old  "particularism"  is  per- 
ceptible in  his  character  and  on  every  page  of  "Wil- 


256  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

helm  Meister."  Jean  Paul  must  have  beard  but 
very  feebly  tbe  pulse-beat  of  the  age  iu  his  rural 
retreat  at  Hof  ;  and  one  wonders  how  Fre^'tag  could 
have  surveyed  the  great  movements  of  civilization 
from  his  villa  at  Siebleben,  in  the  shadow  of  the 
little  court  at  Gotha.  His  university  career  at 
Leipzig,  to  be  sure,  gave  him  a  post  of  vantage, 
and,  as  we  know  from  his  own  confession,  it  was 
there  the  material  accumulated  for  his  two  impor- 
tant novels.  If,  however,  he  had  undertaken  to  pur- 
sue into  the  present  the  theme  which  he  has  so  ably 
treated  in  "  Debit  and  Credit,"  I  cannot  but  think 
that  he  would  have  shown  the  effect  of  the  national 
consolidation  as  vigorously  as  Spielhagen  does  in 
"  Sturmflut." 

It  is  not  often  that  social  problems  have  received 
such  exhaustive,  philosophic,  and  yet  thoroughly 
dramatic  treatment  in  a  novel  as  is  accorded  to 
them  in  "  Sturmflut."  The  book  deals  with  tbe 
effect  of  the  French  milliards  upon  the  German 
state  and  society  at  large  ;  the  speculative  mania 
that  followed  ;  the  decay  of  old-fashioned  rectitude  ; 
the  increased  burdens  resulting  from  official  extrav- 
agance ;  tbe  growing  discontent  of  tbe  working 
classes,  who  were  debarred  from  enjoying  tbe  pro- 
fits of  the  war  though  sharers  in  its  tribulations.  All 
these  things  are  held  in  hand  firmly  by  tbe  author, 
and  it  is  a  real  pleasure  to  observe  how  this  whole 
complex  plot  moves  forward,  preserving  throughout 
its  typical  character.  Tbe  impartiality  with  which 
the  virtues  and  the  limitations  of  the  nobleman  as 


STUDIES   OF  THE   GERMAN  NOVEL      25/ 

well  as  those  of  the  citizen  are  depicted,  indicates  a 
more  cosmopolitan  view,  and  perhaps  a  riper  expe- 
rience, than  was  exhibited  in  the  treatment  of  sim- 
ilar relations  in  "Problematic  Characters"  and 
"Through  Night  to  Light."  The  varied  and  bril- 
liant metropolitan  life  of  the  German  capital  is  set 
in  motion  before  our  eyes,  and  the  whirling  activity 
of  clashing  interests  which  emanates  from  here  to 
the  remotest  corner  of  the  empire  serves  only  to 
complicate  the  situations  and  to  deepen  their  inter- 
est. Such  a  novel  could  not  have  been  written  with 
the  same  degree  of  vividness  and  power  in  the  old 
languid  ante-bellum  capital  of  Prussia  ;  and  a  lively 
sense  of  the  contrast  between  the  old  state  of  affairs 
and  the  new  can  be  realized  by  comparing  the  nov- 
els of  Spielhagen's  first  period  with  those  of  his 
second.  The  "problematic  character" — the  man 
who  was  destroyed  by  his  own  genius,  and  fit  for  no 
position  which  the  State  could  then  offer — was  his 
typical  hero.  The  German  State  had  no  need  of 
genius,  unless  it  were  a  strategic  one.  There  was  no 
public  life  to  speak  of :  the  State  was  a  semi-mil- 
itary corporation,  which  could  be  best  administered 
by  mediocrities.  Therefore  those  who  were  bur- 
dened with  an  excess  of  ability  or  critical  insight 
consumed  their  hearts  in  discontent  or  wasted  them 
in  love-adventures.  Love  was,  in  fact,  the  only 
legitimate  business  in  those  days  for  a  man  of 
genius,  and  death  on  the  barricades  the  legitimate 
end  of  a  life  wasted  in  love  and  talk  and  insatiable 
longings. 


258  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

The  situation  is  now  somewhat  different ;  and 
the  change  is  again  faithfully  chronicled  in  Spielha- 
gen's  novels.  Germany  has  now  a  quasi-constitu- 
tion  which  a  powerful  Chancellor  may  be  inclined  to 
ignore,  and  perhaps  openly  violate.  The  militant 
spirit  fostered  by  the  late  war  has  brought  about  a 
reaction  toward  autocracy,  and  a  consequent  decay 
of  parliamentary  institutions.  The  reaction,  as 
every  clear-sighted  man  must  know,  is  of  course 
temporary,  but  it  is  dangerous  as  long  as  it  lasts, 
and  retards  the  industrial  development  of  the  na- 
tion, A  most  oppressive  system  of  protection  (only 
rivalled  in  foolish  severity  by  our  own)  increases  the 
cost  of  living — makes  the  poor  poorer  and  the  rich 
richer.  A  vast  militai-y  machinery  is  needed  to 
keep  the  discontented  in  order,  and  only  feeds  the 
socialistic  sentiment  which  it  is  intended  to  sup- 
press. The  whole  force  of  evolution  and  the  resist- 
less logic  of  history  are  on  the  side  of  the  oppressed 
masses,  and  in  the  end  their  cause  must  prevail. 

Everyone  will  admit  that  in  a  situation  like  this 
there  is  abundant  material  for  a  novelist  with  Spiel- 
hagen's  ability  to  discern  the  forces  at  work  be- 
neath the  social  movements.  His  works,  which  ex- 
tend over  the  last  thirty-five  years,  though  some  of 
them  deal  with  earlier  periods,  are  to  my  mind  the 
most  valuable  and  faithful  chronicles  of  German  life 
and  thought  during  the  last  quarter  century  that  we 
possess. 

Paul  Heyse,  who  at  present  shares  with  Spiel- 
hagen  and  Freytag  the  favor  of  the  German  public, 


STUDIES   OF  THE   GERMAN  NOVEL      259 

I  shall  also  have  to  dismiss  more  briefly  than  his 
importance  warrants.  It  is,  however,  chiefly  as  a 
writer  of  short  stories  that  he  has  gained  his  fame, 
and  the  short  story  I  have  excluded  from  my  con- 
sideration in  the  present  paper.  Paul  Heyse's  two 
long  novels,  "The  Children  of  the  World"  and  "In 
Paradise,"  are,  with  all  their  undeniable  ability,  so 
remote  from  the  horizon  of  American  readers,  that 
I  should  only  do  injustice  to  the  author  in  attempt- 
ing to  characterize  them.  His  radicalism  asserts 
itself  chiefly  within  the  pale  of  ethics  ;  the  tradi- 
tional barriers  which  civilization  has  gradually  im- 
posed upon  society  seem  to  him  too  narrow,  and 
with  much  ingenuity  he  devises  situations  in  which 
the  natural  feeling  would  seem  to  side  with  the  law- 
breaker. It  is  especially  the  matrimonial  rebel  who 
commands  Heyse's  sympathy  —  the  youth  or  the 
maiden  who,  in  the  ardor  of  youth  or  yielding  to 
outside  pressure,  has  tied  him  or  her  self  to  an  un- 
congenial partner  and  is  paying  the  penalty  of  a 
daily  martyrdom.  Madame  Toutlemonde,  the  Ger- 
man Mrs.  Grundy,  has  a  great  dread  of  Heyse,  and 
it  is  said  she  keeps  his  books  on  the  poison-shelf  in 
her  locked  closet.  Their  pages  are,  however,  dog's- 
eared  and  well  fingered. 

Among  the  rebellious  men  of  genius  whom  Ger- 
many has  produced  (and  I  have  endeavored  to  show 
that  a  man  of  genius  in  Germany  has  much  excuse 
for  being" a  rebel)  no  one  holds  a  place  closer  to  the 
popular  heart  than  the  late  Fritz  Renter.  Unfortu- 
nately, however,   the  period  of  Renter's  rebellion 


260  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

preceded  his  productive  period,  and  lie  had  the  ill- 
luck  to  be  sentenced  to  death  for  having  belonged 
to  a  patriotic  student  society  {Burschenschaft)  and 
having  written  some  enthusiastic  verses  in  an  au- 
tograph-album about  "  fatherland  "  and  "  libeiiy." 
That  was  a  dangerous  experiment  in  those  days ; 
and  though  Renter  was  pardoned,  he  had  to  spend 
seven  long  years  of  his  youth  in  being  dragged 
about  from  one  military  jail  to  the  other,  and  in 
drinking  brandy  with  his  jailers,  who  found  him  a 
jolly  companion.  Both  the  brandy  and  the  idle- 
ness of  such  a  life  proved  fatal  to  Renter,  and  it  was 
only  (o  save  himself  from  absolute  ruin  that,  after 
his  release,  he  turned  in  despair  to  literature.  Odd- 
ly enough,  it  was  as  a  humorist  that  he  made  his 
fame ;  there  is  not  a  particle  of  indignation  in  his 
books  against  those  who  so  cruelly  wrecked  his  life. 
He  drew  on  the  early  reminiscences  of  his  boj'hood 
in  his  native  town  of  Stavenhagen,  in  Mecklenburg, 
and  with  inimitable  drollery  reproduced  the  quaint 
speech  and  manner  of  his  fellow-townsmen.  His 
realism  is  almost  photographic  in  its  minuteness, 
and  yet  full  of  concessions  to  the  prevalent  romantic 
taste.  Pathetic  in  the  extreme  is  his  desciiption 
(written,  as  all  his  works,  in  the  Plattdeulch  dialect) 
of  his  release  from  the  fortress  and  his  first  outlook 
into  the  strange  world  after  his  long  imprisonment 
Several  of  his  novels,  particularly  "Ut  mine  Strom- 
tid"  and  *'Ut  mine  Festungstid,"  have  been  trans- 
lated into  English,  but  they  lose  so  much  in  the 
translation  that  one  can  hardly  form  any  conception 


STUDIES   OF  THE   GERMAN  NOVEL      26 1 

of  their  effective  blending  of  humor  and  pathos  in 
the  original. 

For  all  that,  it  is  not  to  be  denied  that  Renter's 
ai't  is  crude.  He  makes  no  pretence  of  impartiality. 
He  scolds  his  bad  characters  roundly,  and  will  leave 
them  no  shred  of  honor ;  and  he  takes  the  pai"t  of  his 
good  characters  with  equal  vehemence.  A  slightly 
hysterical  vein,  reminding  one  of  Dickens,  runs 
through  all  his  books.  His  characterizations  are 
vivid,  but  drawn  in  rather  a  slovenly,  haphazai'd  way 
which  seems  to  concern  itself  but  little  about  the 
result.  The  charm  of  his  tales  (which  also  accounts 
for  their  artistic  shortcomings)  is  their  tone  of  genial 
improvisation.  They  are  written  in  a  conversational 
key,  and  have  all  the  artlessness;  spontaneity,  and  im- 
pressiveness  of  good  talk.  So  vivid  becomes  this  im- 
pre.ssion,  at  times,  that  the  reader  instinctively  sup- 
plies the  cadence  of  the  human  voice.  But  judged 
by  the  canons  of  literary  art,  Renter's  books  are, 
with  all  their  chaotic  strength,  defective. 

Of  Professor  Georg  Ebers,  whose  Egyptian  ro- 
mances have  gained  a  great  popularity  in  Germany, 
I  need  scarcely  speak  at  any  length.  With  him  art 
seems  to  be  the  mere  handmaid  of  scholarship  ;  and 
as  knowledge  clothed  in  so  attractive  a  form  could 
not  fail  to  prove  alluring,  his  easy  conquest  of  the 
public  is  not  to  be  marvelled  at.  Nevertheless,  a 
novel  equipped  with  leai-ned  references  and  profuse 
scholarly  footnotes  strikes  one  oddly,  and  the  con- 
scientiousness with  which  the  author  has  studied  his 
hieroglyphics  and  explored  the  tombs  of  the  Pharaohs 


262  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

can  scarcely  compensate  for  the  absence  of  that  name- 
less charm  which  only  a  highly  developed  artistic 
faculty  can  suppl}'.  A  vivid  dramatic  movement  is, 
to  be  sure,  not  lacking  in  any  of  Ebers's  romances, 
and  excitement  is  also  plentifully  supplied,  varied 
with  descriptions  which  are  full  of  color  and  anima- 
tion. For  all  that,  his  books  often  tax  the  patience 
"ii  the  transatlantic  reader  severel}',  in  spite  of  the 
satisfaction  one  naturally  feels  at  having  acquired  so 
valuable  an  insight  into  the  heart  of  a  remote  civili- 
zation. Archseological  love-making,  murders,  ab- 
ductions, and  intrigues  of  diabolical  ingenuity  ai'e 
traced  in  bold  relief  against  a  backgi'ound  of  sphinxes 
and  pyramids.  But  all  this  complexity  of  plot  is 
sustained  by  characters  of  great  simplicity.  Cam- 
b3'8es,  Plianes,  and  that  arch-villain  Boges,  in  "  An 
Egyptian  Princess,"  are  of  that  order  of  crude  un- 
composite  stock  characters  with  which  all  primitive 
fiction  abounds.  There  is  no  fine  shading  iu  their 
portraiture,  no  subtle  art.  Even  Nitetis  is  wholly 
modern  in  sentiment,  and  except  in  name,  no  more 
archaic  than  Ethel  Newcome  or  Amelia  in  "  Vanity 
Fair."  She  does,  however,  for  this  very  reason  en- 
chain the  reader's  interest.  She  even  arouses  in  his 
bosom  a  certain  tenderness  for  the  mummies  in  the 
Metropolitan  Museum  and  a  desire  for  their  nearer 
acquaintance.  Was  not  Moses,  perhaps,  a  trifle  pre- 
judiced in  his  view  of  the  Egyptians,  and  would  it 
not  be  well  to  read  "  Homo  Sum "  and  "  Uarda " 
before  giving  our  sympathies  unreservedly  to  the 
Israelites  in  "  that  memorable  conflict  ?  "  Sensational 


STUDIES   OF  THE   GERMAN  NOVEL      263 

in  the  vulgar  sense  Ebers's  romances  ai-e  not,  al- 
though they  revel  in  an  excess  of  exciting  incidents  ; 
but  it  may  well  be  taken  for  granted  that  the  violent 
incidents  with  w^iich  they  deal  were  as  normal  in 
the  time  of  the  Pharaohs  as  the  eventless  chronicles 
of  Howells  and  James  are  to-day.  As  civilization 
progresses,  incidents  of  the  kind  which  novel-readers 
crave,  involving  some  sort  of  mental  or  physical  vio- 
lence, must  necessarily  become  more  scarce  ;  and  the 
exploration  of  insane  asylums  and  police-courts,  or 
any  of  the  agencies  which  are  provided  for  the  care 
of  the  laggers-behind  of  civilization,  merely  because 
a  depraved  public  taste  demands  the  abnormal  rather 
than  the  typical,  is  certainly  an  undignified  pro- 
ceeding on  the  part  of  anyone  who  claims  the  name 
of  an  artist.  Aiuong  the  German  novelists  of  to-day 
there  is  really  no  one  who  has  the  fearlessness  to 
depend  exclusively  upon  his  charm  as  a  narrator,  and 
to  deal  in  the  manner  of  George  Eliot  with  the  quiet 
soul-histories  of  common  people.  But  it  may  be 
answered  that  life  in  a  semi-feudal  state  like  Germany 
has  necessarily  more  color  and  incident  of  the  excit- 
ing sort  than  our  tame  and  unrelieved  democracy. 
The  mere  system  of  caste,  with  all  the  complex  senti- 
ments which  it  engenders,  is  a  most  precious  agency 
to  the  novelist,  affording  him  opportunities  for  con- 
trasts and  conflicts  which  in  our  republican  society 
have  only  feeble  counterparts.  Nevertheless,  as 
this  system  is  doomed,  the  German  novelist  of  the 
twentieth  century  may  have  to  face  the  problem  of 
making  a  democracy  entertaining. 


X. 

"CARMEN    SYLVA" 

IN  a  certain  sense,  all  writing  is  autobiographi- 
cal, as  it  reveals,  directly  or  indirectly,  the 
tendencies  and  limitations  of  the  writer's  mind.  Of 
authorship,  in  the  higher  sense,  this  is  particularly 
true,  though  the  degree  of  self-revelation  varies  in 
accordance  with  temperament  and  circumstances. 
The  lyric  poet  is  necessarily  a  tuneful  egoist,  who 
mirrors  his  soul's  physiognomy  en  face  or  en  prqfil 
with  more  or  less  interesting  distortions  in  the  bab- 
bling brooklet  of  his  song.  Goethe,  the  greatest 
lyric  genius  of  the  century,  set  his  own  heart  to  mu- 
sic ;  and  Heine,  who  follows  close  behind  him,  drew 
no  less  freely  upon  his  emotional  experience  : 

'•  J.t«s  meinen  llirdnen  sprieesen 
VleV  bluJiende  Blumen  lienor, 
TJnd  meine  Seufzer  werden 
Fill  NachtigaUenclior.'" 

When  I  say  that  "  Carmen  Sylva,"  the  Queen  of 
EAmania,  is  a  lyrist,  and  in  the  cadence  of  her  song, 
though  not  in  her  philosophy  of  life,  closely  akin  to 
Heine,  it  is  almost  superfluous  to  add  that  the  auto- 


"  CARMEN  SYLVA  "  265 

biographical  note  in  her  is  distinctly  audible,  and  at 
times  dominant.  There  is  a  charming  spontaneity 
in  her  verse  which  suffices  to  show  that  her  talent  is 
genuine.  In  fact,  so  warmly  and  impetuously  do 
her  feelings  and  emotions  rise  from  tbe  depth  of  her 
ardent  nature,  that  she  scarcely  finds  time  to  give 
them  an  adequate  artistic  expression.  The  concep- 
tion is  fine,  the  fundamental  thought  poetic,  in 
nearly  all  that  she  has  written  ;  but  the  headlong 
zeal  with  which  it  is  unfolded  and  developed  leaves 
no  opportunity  for  that  attention  to  detail  without 
which  the  highest  excellence  is  never  achieved. 
When,  for  all  that,  I  regard  "Carmen  Sylva's" 
writings  as  worthy  of  the  popularity  they  have 
gained,  it  is  because  they  are  vital,  because  there 
throbs  a  warm  and  noble  heart  through  them,  and 
we  feel  behind  them  a  living  personality.  This  per- 
sonality is  so  distinct  that  it  is  easily  described.  It 
is,  moreover,  everywhere  the  same,  and  the  masks 
with  which  fiction  disguises  it  are  so  transparent 
that  the  voice  (which  in  both  "  Carmen  Sylva's " 
novels  speaks  in  the  first  person)  were  scarcely 
needed  for  purposes  of  identification.  But  this  voice 
is  sweet  and  sympathetic,  and  lingers  in  tbe  mem- 
ory. 

"  Carmen  Sylva's "  first  work  was  published  in 
1880.  It  is  a  translation  into  German  of  the  most 
eminent  Rilmanian  poets — Constantino  Negruzzi, 
Vasilio  Alexandri,  and  Scherbanescu.  These  are 
strange-sounding  names  to  us.  Not  the  faintest  echo 
of  their  fame  has  reached  our  shores. 


266  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Of  the  merit  of  the  trauslatiou  it  is  difficult  to 
judge,  for  the  Rilmauiau  language  looks  to  the  un- 
initiated more  puzzling  than  Chinese,  and  more  be- 
wilderingly  polysyllabic  than  the  dialects  of  the 
North  American  Indians. 

One  acquires  respect  for  the  Queen's  intellect 
from  the  mere  fact  of  her  having  mastered  such  an 
awe-inspiring  language.  What  strikes  one  in  the 
volume,  besides  the  easy  and  melodious  flow  of  the 
translations,  is  the  modern  tone  of  these  remote  and 
unknown  poets.  Schopenhauer  actually  has  a  Ru- 
manian disciple  named  Eminesca,  who  prefers  non- 
existence to  existence  ;  the  same  battles  of  thought 
which  agitate  the  rest  of  the  world  reverberate  also 
through  the  intellectual  atmosphere  of  the  Dcxnubian 
kingdom.  The  impassioned  lyrics  and  the  simple 
and  vigorous  ballads  of  Alexaudri  well  deserve  a 
place  in  the  world's  literature,  and  to  have  made 
them  accessible  to  the  great  European  public  consti- 
tutes one  of  the  Queen's  many  claims  to  the  grati- 
tude of  her  people. 

The  task  of  translating  apparently  revealed  to  the 
Queen  her  own  poetic  resources.  Her  first  original 
"work  was  a  volume  of  naiTative  poems  entitled 
"Storms,"  which  is  dedicated  in  the  following  ear- 
nest and  impressive  lines  (translated  by  Miss  Helen 
Zimmern),  to  her  fellow-sufferers,  the  women  : 

"Ye,  having  heart  and  strength  to  bear 
Deep  in  the  fervent  glowing  soul, 
Whom  the  fierce  flames  of  Passion's  self 
But  streugtlien,  making  firm  and  whole. 


'■'■  CARMEN  SVLVA"  267 

"  Ye,  having  might,  when  tempests  rage, 
To  lift  the  head  free,  fearing  naught, 
Whom  the  heart  pressing  weight  of  life 
Rules  with  the  sway  of  earnest  thought. 

"  Ye,  hreathing  only  light  and  warmth 

Forever  like  a  true  sun's  ray. 

Till  tenderly  the  bare,  black  earth 

Kindness  and  joy  brings  forth  straightway. 

"  Smiling,  great  burdens  ye  have  borne, 
Mountains  of  woe,  and  still  smile  on  ; 
Guerdonless  where  no  trumpets  sound, 
Victorious  battles  have  ye  won. 

"There  laurel  is  not,  nor  proud  fame  ; 
There  secret  tear-drops  fall  like  dew  ; 
O  heroes  whom  no  crowds  proclaim, 
Women,  I  give  this  book  to  you." 

Miss  Zimmern  has  anticipated  me  in  saying  that 
"  Sappho,"  the  principal  poem  in  this  volume,  is 
quite  un-Greek  It  is,  in  fact,  both  in  form  and 
conception,  as  Germanic  as  possible.  It  has  none  of 
the  bright  sensuousness  and  heedless  grace  of  Greek 
song.  The  fateful  dream  of  Lais,  the  daughter  of 
Sappho,  with  which  the  poem  opens,  bears  some 
resemblance  to  the  dream  of  Chrierahild  in  the  first 
canto  of  the  "  Niebelungen  Lay,"  although  butter- 
flies are  substituted  for  eagles.  But  apart  from  the 
moral  anachronism  which  is  implied  in  the  domes- 
tic virtues  and  Teutonic  conscientiousness  of  the 
Lesbian  poetess,  there  is  much  to  admire.  As  a 
mere  woman,  without  reference  to  age  or  national- 
ity, Sappho   is   vividly   delineated,  and   the   songs 


268  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

which  she  sings,  though  they  have  neither  the  Sap- 
phic meter  nor  spirit,  we  could  ill  afford  to  misa 
Thus  the  charming  little  lay :  "  Wenu  todt  ich  werde 
sein,"  in  the  third  canto,  has  an  **  unpremeditated 
art "  which  none  but  true  singers  attain.  It  expires 
like  a  sigh  in  the  air,  and  is  as  eloquent  of  the 
emotion  which  prompted  it. 

The  hexameter  in  "Sappho"  is  handled  with 
skill ;  but  the  perpetually  recurring  alliteration  in- 
terferes with  its  melodious  effect.  As  a  metrical 
device  alliteration  is  of  Germanic  origin,  and  seems 
alien  to  the  spirit  of  Greek  poetry.  There  is  also  a 
certain  exasperating  monotony  in  the  constantly  re- 
peated initial  letters,  which  gives  an  air  of  artificial- 
ity even  to  the  noblest  verse.  As  a  criticism  of  less 
moment  it  might  be  permissible  to  ask  why  Sappho's 
lover  is  called  Memnon,  when  history  supplies  the 
scarcely  less  resonant  name  of  Alkseus. 

The  word  "  Sturmesseele  "  (storm  soul),  which 
occurs  repeatedly  in  "  Sappho,"  and  which  is  more 
or  less  descriptive  of  all  the  Queen's  heroines,  con- 
tains also  the  formula  of  her  own  character.  Astra, 
in  the  epistolary  novel  of  that  name,  and  the  Prin- 
cess Ulrike  zu  Horst  Kauchenstein,  in  "From  Two 
Worlds,"  are  both  pronounced  types  of  the  tempest- 
uous soul.  Daringly  unconventional,  headstrong, 
generous  to  a  fault,  affectionate  and  impulsive — such 
is  the  type  of  womanhood  with  which  "  Carmen 
Sylva  "  sympathizes,  and  which  she  most  completely 
comprehends.  Naturally  enough  such  characters 
come  into  frequent  conflicts  with  reality,  as  inherit- 


"■  CARMEN  SYLVA  "  269 

ed  custom  and  tradition  have  moulded  it ;  and  the 
I'esult  is  usually  tragic.  For  no  single  individual, 
even  though  armed  with  right  aud  justice,  can  cope 
•with  the  world.  The  Lilliputians  are  always  stronger 
than  Gulliver.  And  when  the  moral  question  at 
issue  is,  as  in  the  case  of  Astra,  more  than  ques- 
tionable, it  is  even  for  the  good  of  society  that  the 
tempestuous  soul  should  succumb.  We  may  sym- 
pathize with  its  suffering  and  deplore  its  fate  ;  but, 
sociologically  considered,  we  cannot  declare  that 
either  the  one  or  the  other  is  unjust. 

The  i^roblem  in  "  Astra  "  is  an  old  one,  and  there 
is  nothing  in  the  book,  except  the  picturesque  and 
effective  setting  of  the  scenes  in  the  terra  incognita 
of  one  of  the  Danubian  principalities.  The  vigorous 
characterization  of  the  heroine  and  the  accessory 
figures  compensates  for  the  entire  absence  of  a  plot, 
in  the  old-fashioned  sense.     Astra  belongs  evidently 

to 

"  jenem  Stamm  der  Astra 
Welche  sterben  wenn  sie  lieben. " 

It  is  unhappily  her  sister's  husband  whom  she 
loves  ;  aud  there  is  obviously  no  solution  possible 
except  death.  In  the  case  of  the  Princess  Ulricke, 
in  "  From  Two  Worlds,"  the  tempestuous  character 
triumphs  over  the  obstacles  which  tradition  inter- 
poses between  her  and  happiness.  CaiTied  away  by 
tlie  beauty  of  a  book  dealing  with  ancient  Greek 
art,  she  enters  into  correspondence  with  the  author, 
under  the  supposition  that  he  is  a  hoary  and  vener- 
able scholar,  whose  suggestions  may  be  likely  to  im- 


270  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

prove  hei"  mind.  That  he  turns  out  to  be  a  young 
and  handsome  man  (professor  thougli  he  is)  follows, 
as  a  matter  of  course  ;  and  that  the  intellectual  tone 
of  the  correspondence  should  gradually  change  into 
a  personal  and  semi-sentimental  one  is  also  what 
might  have  been  expected.  But  what  in  a  queen  is 
wholly  surprising  and  shows  a  remarkable  indepen- 
dence of  character,  is  the  circumstance  that  this 
paragon  of  manly  beauty  and  intellectual  vigor  is  rep- 
resented as  an  advanced  radical  in  his  political  opin- 
ions, and  does  not  even  shun  to  applj-  to  himself  the 
name  "  social-democrat."  He  belongs  to  the  class  of 
the  so-called  "Katheder-Socialisten  ;"  i.e.,  didactic, 
professorial  socialists,  who  believe  (with  Lasalle)  that 
the  State  must  eventually  take  the  place  of  corj)ora- 
tions  as  employers  of  labor  and  entrepreneurs  in  in- 
dustrial enterprise.  He  has  a  wholesome  piide  in 
his  bourgeois  origin,  and  a  violent  prejudice  against 
nobles  and  princes.  This  does  not,  however,  pre- 
vent him  from  constructing,  in  fanc}',  a  fascinating 
image  of  his  princely  correspondent,  or  from  visit- 
ing her  incognito,  in  the  guise  of  a  piano-tunei*. 
The  princess,  who  with  all  her  grandeur  leads  a 
lonely  and  isolated  life,  also  expends  a  great  deal  of 
romantic  sentiment  on  her  learned  plebeian,  and 
finally  elopes  with  him  and  marries  him.  The  inev- 
itable stormy  scenes  ensue,  and  the  happy  denoue- 
ment is  only  brought  about  by  the  birth  of  a  child, 
and  a  meeting  between  the  prince  and  the  plebeian  at 
what  is  supposed  to  be  the  death-bed  of  the  young 
mother. 


"  CARMEN  SYLVA  "  2/1 

Now,  the  interest  of  this  little  complication  is  in 
the  light  it  throws  upon  the  author's  character. 

A  wholesome — I  might  almost  say  a  homely — nat- 
ure breathes  through  all  these  epistles.  It  is  the 
stormy  soul  Avhom  we  have  already  learned  to  know 
in  "Sappho,"  but  more  humanly  real,  more  tender 
and  lovable.  All  that  is  known  of  the  Queen's  char- 
acter harmonizes  so  well  with  it  that,  in  a  wholly 
psychological  way,  the  book  becomes  autobiograph- 
ical. It  is  difficult  to  avoid  the  conclusion  that  her 
own  childhood  and  her  early  environment  must 
have  furnished  the  material  for  the  letters  dealing 
with  the  Princess  Ulricke's  daily  life  in  the  lonely 
but  beautiful  Castle  Rauchenstein.  That  she  was 
a  very  headstrong  and  ungovernable  child,  much  in- 
clined to  adventurous  enterprise  and  independent 
judgments,  is  well  known  ;  and  that  her  princely 
dignity  sat  very  lightly  upon  her  during  those  years 
we  may  conclude  from  the  anecdotes  related  by 
Miss  Zimmern.  She  was  born  December  29,  1843, 
and  is,  accordingly,  now  forty-eight  years  old.  Her 
father.  Prince  Hermann  von  Wied,  was  a  general  in 
the  Prussian  army,  and  belonged  to  one  of  the  old- 
est dynastic  families  of  Germany.  He  was  a  man 
of  great  culture,  interested  in  metaphysical  studies, 
and  published  three  able  books  dealing  with  philo- 
sophical subjects.  The  Princess  Elizabeth,  his 
daughter,  thus  came  naturally  by  her  love  of  study 
and  her  predilection  for  authorship.  It  was  her 
delight  in  her  childhood  to  ignore  her  rank  and  mix 
with  "  common  children,"  to  whom  she  eagerly  im- 


2/2  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

parted  her  newlj-acquired  knowledge,  or  indulged 
in  rough  and  noisy  games,  which  were  held  to  be 
neither  maidenly  nor  aristocratic.  Her  ambition  at 
that  time  was  to  become  a  school-mistress — to  elevate 
and  benefit  her  kind  by  teaching  and  by  example. 
To  live  her  own  life,  to  work  out  her  own  individ- 
uality, was  her  idea  of  happiness.  And  as  her  im- 
pulses were  naturally  generous,  and  lessons  of  com- 
passion and  charity  had  been  early  im^jressed  upon 
her  by  a  wise  mother,  her  own  happiness  consisted 
in  spreading  happiness  about  her.  She  often  fol- 
lowed literally  the  biblical  precept  to  give  to  him 
who  asked  for  the  coat  the  cloak  also  ;  and  there 
was  danger  that,  unless  restrained,  she  might  give 
away  her  entire  wardrobe. 

On  one  occasion  (as  related  by  her  sympathetic 
biographer)  she  took  it  into  her  head  to  attend  the 
village  school ;  and,  without  awaiting  the  consent  of 
her  mother,  took  to  her  heels  and  burst  into  the 
astonished  assembly  of  school-children.  The  school- 
master, who  knew  her  by  sight,  did  not  inteiTupt 
the  lesson  on  her  account,  but  allowed  her  to  par- 
ticipate in  the  exercises.  When  the  singing  began 
she  joined  so  heartily  with  her  strong,  impetuous 
voice  that  the  performance  had  all  the  effect  of  a 
solo.  Her  neighbor,  a  little  girl  who  herself  had 
nmsical  pretensions,  became  so  exasperated  at  her 
vigorous  performance  that,  forgetting  all  ceremony, 
she  put  her  hand  over  the  princess's  mouth.  Before 
she  had  time  to  resent  this  liberty,  a  servant  arrived 
from  the  castle  and  carried  her  home  in  disgrace. 


"  CARMEN  SYLVA"  273 

The  hand  of  the  young  Princess  of  Wied  was  nat- 
urally sought  by  many  wooers  ;  but  her  personality 
was  too  positive,  too  titanic  to  contemplate  the  com- 
promises and  sacrifices  of  individual  tastes  which 
matrimony  necessitates  with  any  degree  of  pleasure. 
Like  Briinhilde  in  the  Volsunga  Saga,  her  heart 
could  only  be  awakened  by  a  hero  who  had  the 
courage  to  ride  through  the  wall  of  flame.  She  was 
wont  to  say  jocosely — merely  to  express  how  remote 
the  idea  of  marriage  was  from  her  mind — that  she 
would  never  marry,  unless  she  could  become  Queen 
of  Romania.  In  the  first  place  Edmania  was  not 
then  a  kingdom,  but  a  tributary  dependency  of  the 
Porte,  and,  secondly,  the  miserable  Prince  Cousa, 
who  governed  it,  was  a  married  man.  If  Princess 
Elizabeth  had  declared  that  she  would  never  marry 
unless  she  could  be  Empress  of  China,  the  contin- 
gency would  scarcely  have  appeared  less  improba- 
ble. But  it  is  sometimes  the  most  improbable  that 
happens.  During  a  visit  to  the  Court  of  Berlin,  she 
slipped  in  going  downstairs,  and  fell  into  the  arms 
of  the  gentleman  who  was  destined  to  become  King 
of  Rflmania — viz..  Prince  Charles  of  HohenzoUern. 
When  the  latter,  in  1868,  became  Prince  Cousa's 
successor,  he  took  Princess  Elizabeth  at  her  word, 
and  offered  her  the  opportunity  to  share  with  him 
the  Riimanian  throne.  That  that  throne  was  for  a 
time  extremely  unstable  we  all  know,  and  that  it  is 
so  no  longer  is  in  a  large  measure  due  to  the  tact,, 
the  wisdom,  and  the  unbounded  benevolence  of  the 
Queen.     The  German  nationality  is  not  beloved  in 


274  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

the  Danubian  kingdom  ;  nay,  it  is  almost  bated 
among  all  the  Slavonic  tribes.  To  have  overcome 
this  stubborn  and  deep-rooted  prejudice  by  the  force 
of  her  noble  and  lovable  character  is  an  achievement 
the  magnitude  of  which  few,  outside  of  -Romania, 
are  able  to  estimate.  The  indefatigable  activity  of 
the  Queen  for  the  welfare  of  her  subjects  has 
touched  their  hearts,  and  they  have  rewarded  her 
with  one  of  those  affectionate  pet  names  with  which 
the  Slavonic  languages  abound.  "  Little  Mother," 
the  peasants  call  her  ;  and  a  mother  she  has  been  to 
them  in  many  ways.  Hospitals,  soup-kitchens,  in- 
dustrial schools,  art  galleries,  etc.,  testify  to  her 
vigilant  care  both  for  their  bodies  and  their  minds. 
She  has,  indeed,  become  a  school-mistress  in  the 
most  exalted  sense.  A  throne  offers  facilities  for 
teaching  which  no  other  tribune  affords,  and  RA- 
mania,  which  under  the  cruel  and  degrading  rule  of 
the  Turk  had  sunk  into  semi-barbarism,  presented 
a  field  for  a  crowned  benefactress  such  as  scarcely 
another  European  state  did.  Her  sympathy  with 
toil,  her  respect  for  all  honest  labor  and  aU  spheres 
of  usefulness,  is  obvious  in  eveiy  line  of  her  "  Songs 
of  Toil."  They  are  not  mere  melodious  fancies,  or 
romantic  conceits,  with  which  any  imaginative  aris- 
tocrat might  beguile  his  gilded  leisure  ;  but  homely 
and  sincere  rhymes,  entering  into  the  very  spirit  of 
each  trade,  and  seizing  upon  its  human  and  pathetic 
phases.  "  Carmen  Sylva  "  has  earned  the  right  to 
sing  "  Songs  of  Toil ; "  for  her  own  life,  although 
passed  upon  the  highest  altitudes  of  society,  has 


"  CARMEN  SYLVA  "  2/5 

been  one  of  arduous  and  incessant  labor.  That 
there  is  heroic  stuff  in  her  she  has  shown  on  more 
than  one  occasion  ;  but  especially  during  the  terri- 
ble winter  of  1877-1878,  when  the  Eusso-Turkish 
war  raged.  Like  a  ministering  angel  she  went 
among  the  wounded  soldiers,  relieving  their  wants, 
assisting  at  amputations,  comforting  the  suffering, 
and  receiving  the  last  messages  of  the  dying.  A 
public  monument  in  Bucharest  commemorates  her 
noble  activity  during  this  year  of  triumph  and  sor- 
row. 

As  a  wife  and  mother  the  Queen  has  also  known 
affliction,  having  lost  her  only  child,  a  daughter  of 
four  years.  She  has  cared  little  for  the  mere  tinsel- 
show  and  glitter  of  life  since  then,  but  has  turned 
her  attention  to  its  great  and  enduring  realities. 
Like  Faust  (in  the  second  part  of  Goethe's  master- 
piece) she  finds  happiness  after  having  abandoned 
all  conscious  striving  for  personal  well-being.  In 
the  social  and  moral  sphere  she  conquers,  like  him, 
the  land  from  the  unruly  ocean,  and  wrings  fertility 
and  a  thousand  blessings  from  the  waste  wilderness. 
From  a  hint  in  her  novelette,  "  Es  Klopft "  (It 
Knocks),  it  is  obvious  that  by  her  own  warm-hearted 
charity  she  wishes  to  raise  a  memorial  in  everj' 
breast  to  the  dear  one  she  has  lost.  The  story  of 
the  little  Friedlein  and  the  blessings  that  flowed 
from  his  premature  death  could  only  have  been 
written  out  of  a  personal  experience.  It  is  only 
small  natures  whom  sorrow  paralyzes.  The  Queen 
has  made  hers  a  source  of  happiness  to  hundreds  of 


2/6  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

her  fellow-men.  It  has  given  an  outward,  altruistic 
vent  to  her  energies  ;  partly  from  an  innate  need  of 
action,  peculiar  to  the  strong,  partly  to  escape  from 
brooding  over  her  loss,  she  clothed  the  naked,  fed 
the  hungry,  comforted  the  afflicted,  and  lightened 
the  burdens  of  the  heavy-laden. 

''  Carmen  Sylva's  "  books,  which  contain  a  spirit- 
ualized and  symbolical  record  of  the  experiences 
through  which  she  has  passed,  have  followed  each 
other  in  such  rapid  succession  that  space  will  not 
permit  me  to  give  an  account  of  all.  The  book 
which  interests  me  most  as  an  evidence  of  earnest 
thought  and  a  faculty  of  expression  is  a  poem  en- 
titled "  Jehovah."  The  hero  of  this  book  is  Ahasu- 
erus,  the  Wandering  Jew,  but  the  cause  of  his 
eternal  wandering  is  not,  as  in  the  legend,  his  denial 
of  a  resting-place  to  the  Saviour  on  his  way  to  Gol- 
gotha. "  Carmen  Sylva's "  Ahasuerus  denies  the 
suffering  Christ,  because  he  cannot  conceive  of  a  God 
who  can  suffer  ;  but  the  curse  that  drives  him  eter- 
nally onward  is  his  determination  to  live  until  he 
shall  have  solved  the  riddle  of  creation — until  he 
shall  see  God.  He  goes  to  the  edge  of  the  desert 
and  listens  to  tlie  sound  with  which  the  statue  of 
Memnon  greets  the  dawn,  in  the  hope  of  distin- 
guishing the  answer  to  the  riddle.  He  seeks  God 
in  gold  and  precious  stones,  in  song,  in  war  for 
Islam  ;  and  everywhere  he  wins  the  highest  praise 
aud  distinction.  But  nowhere  does  he  find  Him 
whom  he  seeks.  At  last  he  becomes  an  ai'tist,  and 
recognizes,  while  fashioning  his  ideas  in  marble  and 


"  CARMEN  SYLVA  "  2/7 

color,  the  evolution  of  all  ideals,  the  eternal,  in- 
finitely progressive  development  in  the  world  of 
matter  as  in  the  world  of  thought.  This  progressive, 
evolutionary  impulse,  this  creative  energy  that  never 
rests  or  ceases,  he  hails  as  God.  "  Gott  ist  ewig 
Werden "  is  his  final  conclusion,  which  gives  him 
peace  and  permits  him  to  die.  Whatever  we  may 
think  of  this  declaration,  which  is  pantheistic  rather 
than  Christian,  it  would  be  vain  to  deny  the  beauty 
and  dignity  of  the  verse  in  which  the  wrestlings  of 
Ahasuerus  with  the  infinite  are  depicted. 

Scarcely  inferior  to  this  poem  in  value,  though  of 
a  totally  diiferent  character,  is  the  volume  of  "  Pe- 
lesch-Mdrchen"  (Fairy  Tales  of  the  Pelesch),  which 
has  all  the  fantastic  and  artless  character  of  real 
folk-lore,  and  which,  we  should  judge,  must  have 
some  basis  in  popular  tradition.  The  tales  entitled 
"Leidens  Erdengaug"  (Sorrow's  Earthly  Pilgrimage) 
give  in  allegorical  form  the  history  of  the  Queen's 
own  spiritual  life,  her  sorrow,  her  despair,  and  her 
final  attainment  of  peace. 

It  is  a  noble  life  and  a  rich  personality  that  are 
revealed  to  us  in  the  writings  of  "  Carmen  Sylva  ;  " 
and  if  she  had  not  a  ci-own  already,  she  might  con- 
quer one  in  the  realm  of  song. 

But  the  royal  rank  seems,  somehow,  to  be  a  dis- 
qualification for  the  highest  literary  distinction.  A 
certain  dilettanteism,  showing  defective  training  and 
wavering  pui*pose,  is  perceptible  in  the  workman- 
ship of  all  the  Queen's  books.  The  wayward  ro- 
manticism of  her  temperament  has  never  been  re- 


2/8  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

strained  by  the  sort  of  discipline  which  experience 
is  apt  to  supply  to  less  exalted  mortals.  She  has 
read  much,  thought  much,  and  felt  passionately, 
but  she  has  never  come  in  close  enough  contact 
with  life,  such  as  it  shows  itself  to  ordinaiy  men,  to 
know  it  at  first  hand,  and  utilize  it  effectively  for 
the  purposes  of  art.  All  her  tempestuous  aspira- 
tion, shooting  upward  with  a  grand  momentum, 
reaches  nowhere,  but  explodes  like  a  rocket  in  inef- 
fective pyrotechnics. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL  IN  GER- 
MANY 


XI. 

SOCIAL  ASPECTS  OF  THE   GERMAN 
ROMANTIC  SCHOOL 


THE  Italian  Renaissance  was  a  revival  not  only  of 
Greek  art,  but  also  of  Pagan  philosophy,  my- 
thology, and  religion.  The  ascetic  abstinence,  in 
color  as  in  form,  of  the  pre-Raphaelite  masters  was 
supplanted  by  a  joyous  splendor  of  blooming  and 
throbbing  flesh,  and  the  galleries  which  had  once 
witnessed  the  pictured  transports  and  ecstatic  visions 
of  pale  nuns  and  lank  saints  now  suddenly  teemed 
with  the  spirited  scenes  of  sensuous  pleasure.  And 
even  where  the  painter  adhered  to  the  old  themes 
from  the  sacred  history,  a  certain  profane  delight  in 
mere  physical  beauty  betrayed  the  influence  of  the 
Periclean  age. 

During  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV.  this  Pagan  Re- 
naissance invaded  France,  but  it  was  not  until  the 
middle  of  the  eighteenth  centuiy  that  it  reached 
Germany.  Then  Winckelmann  devoted  his  noble 
life  to  the  writing  of  that  great  work  on  the  ai't  of 
the  ancients  which  first  opened  the  eyes  of  bis  coun- 
'tiymen  to  the  true  significance  of  the  Greek  civiliza- 
tion, and  thereby  turned   the  current  of  the  intel- 


282  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

lectual  life  of  the  Fatherland.  In  order  to  complete 
such  a  work  the  author  had  virtually  to  emancipate 
himself  from  the  sentiments  and  traditions  of  his 
own  century,  and  in  a  measure  ignore  the  long  pro- 
cess of  evolution  through  which  the  world  had 
passed  since  the  days  of  Phidias  and  Pericles  ;  and 
Winckelmann  did  nothing  short  of  this.  In  order 
to  make  the  individual  work  of  art  intelligible,  he 
had  to  reproduce  in  himself,  and  through  himself  in 
Lis  reader,  that  sensuous  equilibrium  which  had 
made  its  first  creation  possible,  and  that  ideal  sim- 
plicity of  feeling  from  which  it  had  sprung.  His 
protest  against  modem  Christianity  could  not  be  a 
conscious  one  ;  he  could  not  denounce  it,  he  could 
only  ignore  it.  Nevertheless,  the  theologians  did 
not  fail  to  notice  the  anti-Cbristian  tendency  of  his 
writings,  and  to  deciy  them  accordingly.  In  the 
meanwhile  another  intellectual  giant  had  caught 
the  spirit  of  the  Renaissance,  and  now  the  dissatis- 
faction which  had  long  been  gathering  broke  out  in 
open  warfare.  Lessing,  although  disagreeing  with 
"Winckelmann  on  many  unessential  points,  willingly 
acknowledged  himself  his  pupil,  and  the  struggle 
with  orthodoxy  which  the  latter  had  indirectly  oc- 
casioned, the  former  fought  in  open  and  aggressive 
wai'fare. 

Heine  has  fittingly  characterized  Lessing's  life  in 
comparing  him  to  those  Jews  who  returned  to  Je- 
rusalem under  Nehemiah :  they  brandished  the 
sword  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  they  re- 
built the  temple  of  God.     It  was  not  Christianity 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL  IN  GERMANY     2S3 

against  which  Lessing  aimed  the  keen  aiTOws  of  his 
wit,  but  it  was  bigotry,  and  more  especially  bigotry 
as  represented  by  that  arch-prelate,  Pastor  Gotze,  in 
Hamburg.  The  Protestant  clergy  of  Germany  were 
at  that  time  a  kind  of  self-constituted  tribunal, 
which  had  assumed  to  itself  the  right  to  censure  and, 
if  possible,  ostracize  from  the  national  literature 
evei'y  production  which  in  spirit  or  letter  was  at 
variance  with  Lutheran  orthodoxy.  Accordingly, 
when  Lessing  undertook  to  publish  the  rationalistic 
fragments  of  his  deceased  friend  Reimarus,  these 
watch-dogs  of  the  faith  immediately  sounded  the 
alarm,  and  with  Gotze  in  their  van  began  those  at- 
tacks upon  "  the  free-thinker  "  which  with  unwearied 
zeal  they  continued  to  the  end  of  his  life.  To  quote 
another  of  Heine's  sayings,  Lessing  sIcav  them,  and 
by  deigning  to  slay  them  he  made  them  immortal ; 
the  rocks  Avhich  he  hurled  at  them  in  his  so-called 
anti-Gotze  pamphlets,  became  their  imperishable 
monuments.  Indeed,  the  athletic  stature  of  his  in- 
tellect gained  him  an  easy  victory  in  all  the  literary 
tilts  in  which  he  engaged,  and  even  after  his  death 
his  country  seemed  for  a  long  time  to  be  still  feed- 
ing on  the  surplus  amount  of  vitalit}'  which  his  vig- 
orous individuality  had  imparted  to  it.  The  intel- 
lectual result  of  his  life  naturally  crystallized  itself 
into  certain  fixed  doctrines  and  stereotyped  phrases, 
which  became  the  watchwords  of  a  certain  clique  of 
men,  the  well-known  Party  of  Enlightenment  (Auf- 
klarung). 

The  chief  of  this  party,  the  bookseller  Nicolai, 


284  GERMAN-  LITERATURE 

in  Berlin,  who  regarded  himself  as  Lessing's  legiti- 
mate heir  and  successor,  with  a  certain  comic  per- 
severance and  a  grand  air  of  authoritj',  arraigned 
before  his  tribunal  the  rising  authors  of  the 
land,  thus  continuing  what  he  conceived  to  be  the 
spirit  of  his  master's  criticism.  Lessing  had  been 
harsh  in  his  judgment  of  the  Sturm  und  Drang 
(Storm  and  Stress)  school,  not  even  excepting  Goe- 
the's Gotz  von  Berlichingen  from  the  general  con- 
demnation. Nicolai,  perceiving  the  tendency  rather 
than  the  degree  of  merit,  therefox-e  persevered  in 
waging  war  against  every  incipient  literary  move- 
ment which  accorded  to  emotional  strength  the 
prominence  which  in  his  opinion  belonged  only  to 
the  rational  side  of  our  nature.  What  had  been 
an  unconscious  limitation  in  Lessing's  nature,  his 
incapacity  to  appreciate  a  purely  lyrical  talent,  de- 
generated in  Nicolai  into  a  conscious,  stubborn  an- 
tipathy against  everything  which  bordered  on  vehe- 
mence. Opposition  and  ridicule  drove  the  zealous 
bookseller  into  ever  greater  paradoxes.  The  critical 
maxims  which  Lessing  had  bequeathed  to  posterity 
were  now  no  longer  new,  and  by  constant  repetition 
and  misapplication  had  begun  to  pall  on  the  sense 
of  the  public.  The  ancient  saws  about  utility,  per- 
spicuity, and  morality  could  now  no  more  cause  a 
sansation,  and  the  people  were  heartily  longing  for 
something  new.  Lessing  had  endeavored  to  estab- 
lish the  supremacy  of  I'eason  also  in  matters  of  re- 
ligion, and  had  in  his  daily  life  practised  toward 
ot!)srs  the  toleration  he  claimed  for  himself.     Nicolai 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL  IN  GERMANY     285 

and  his  followers,  as  is  too  often  the  case  with  men 
of  "  advanced  opinions,"  forgot  in  their  partisan  zeal 
the  tolerance  they  were  themselves  preaching,  and 
by  their  opposition  to  evei-ything  which  conflicted 
with  their  own  utilitarian  tendencies,  for  a  time  ex- 
erted an  unwholesome  influence  upon  the  literature 
of  the  land.  Nan-own  ess  of  vision,  a  certain  crude, 
intellectual  complacency,  utter  absence  of  imagina- 
tion, exti'eme  utilitarianism,  and  consequent  hostility 
to  everything  which  points  beyond  this  temporal 
sphere  of  existence,  were  the  chief  characteristics  of 
this  "  Pei-iod  of  Enlightenment." 

It  is  self-evident  that  a  school  which  so  entirely 
ignored  the  emotional  nature  of  man  could  not  for 
any  length  of  time  satisfy  so  warm-hearted  and  im- 
aginative a  nation  as  the  Germans.  Their  Gothic 
character,  with  all  its  mystic  depths  of  gloom  and 
passion  and  pathos,  soon  reasserted  itself,  the  pro- 
tests became  louder  and  louder.  A  strong  tide  of 
reaction  rolled  over  the  land,  and  this  reaction  has 
found  its  literary  and  historic  expression  in  what  is 
commonly  known  as  the  Romantic  School.  To  those 
who  care  for  a  minute  and  scholarly  exposition  of  the 
origin  and  progress  of  this  remarkable  movement,  I 
would  recommend  the  exhaustive  accounts  of  Julian 
Schmidt,  R  Haym,  and  Koberstein.  Heine's  essay  on 
Romanticism  is  a  most  fascinating  book,  which  is 
equally  remarkable  for  its  epigi-ammatic  brilliancy,  its 
striking  originality,  and  its  utter  injustice  and  unre- 
liability. A  distinguished  Danish  critic,  G.  Brandes, 
rivals  Heine  in  vividness  of  style,  without  being  in 


286  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

the  same  degi*ee  liable  to  the  charge  of  partisanship. 
My  purpose  at  present  is  merely  to  illustrate  the 
movement  in  its  moral  and  social  bearings,  to  sketch, 
as  it  were  en  profile,  the  more  prominent  features  of 
the  Romantic  pbysioguomy,  and,  by  gathering  these 
into  an  intelligible  portrait,  convey  to  the  reader  an 
impression  of  what  Romanticism  was,  or  at  least 
what  it  purported  to  be. 

Tiiough  it  was  primarily  the  dry  and  wooden 
utilitarianism  of  the  Party  of  Enlightenment  which 
aroused  the  hostility  of  the  Romantic  authors,  the 
tendency,  which  they  came  to  represent,  was  scarce- 
ly less  hostile  to  the  classicism  of  Goethe  and  Schil- 
ler. Although  Novalis,  the  brothers  Schlegel,  and 
nearly  all  the  champions  of  the  new  movement 
were  profoundly  stirred  by  "  Wilhelm  Meister," 
and  did  not  stint  their  admiration  of  "Faust,"  and 
"Hermann  und  Dorothea,"  the  spirit  of  Goethe  re- 
mained alien  to  them  ;  and  as  their  own  convictions 
developed  and  became  formulated,  their  antagonism 
became  pronounced  and  emphatic.  Toward  Schiller 
they  assumed  at  first  a  more  tolerant  attitude  ;  and 
after  the  publication  of  "The  Maid  of  Orleans" 
were  half  inclined  to  claim  him  as  one  of  their  own. 
But,  for  all  that,  they  could  not  remain  blind  to  the 
fact  that  his  enthusiasm  for  Greek  antiquity  implied 
an  antipathy  to  their  reactionary  medisevalism,  quite 
as  strong  as  that  of  his  friend.  The  modern  revolu- 
tionary spirit  which  gives  its  magnificent  vehemence 
to  "  The  Robbers,"  and  inspires  the  stormy  elo- 
quence of  Marquis  Posa  in  "Don  Carlos,"  was,  as 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL  IN  GERMANY     28/ 

the  Romanticists  could  not  fail  to  perceive,  a  more 
dangerous  foe  to  their  feudal  ideals  than  the  placid 
classicism  of  "  Iphigenia,"  and  "Tasso."  And  when 
Schiller,  in  "  The  Bride  of  Messina,"  even  introduced 
the  Greek  chorus,  and  embodied  in  his  drama  a 
tragic  fate,  no  less  rigid  than  that  of  ^schylus  and 
Sophocles,  it  was  time  to  protest,  in  the  name  of 
German  art,  against  such  forced  and  artificial  stand- 
ards.    As  Mr.  Brandes  says  : 

"  The  antique  was  too  severe,  people  yearned  for 
color  and  variety  ;  the  antique  was  too  plastic,  peo- 
ple demanded  something  warm  and  musical.  The 
antique  was  so  Greek,  so  cold,  so  alien  ;  who  could 
endure  reading  Goethe's  'Achilleis,'  or  Schiller's 
*  Bride  of  Messina '  with  its  solemn  antique 
choruses  ?  The  people  longed  for  something  home- 
like and  German.  The  antique  was  too  aristocratic, 
and  the  enthusiasm  for  the  classical  was  carried  so 
far  that  even  the  old  court  poetry  from  the  time  of 
Louis  XIV.  was  reinstated  in  honor.  But  ought 
not  art  to  be  for  all  classes  ?  Ought  it  not  to  unite 
high  and  low  ?  Something  simple  and  popular  was 
desired.  The  .classical  movement  was,  in  fine,  too 
sober.  Lessing's  bright  religion  of  reason  had, 
in  the  hands  of  the  bookseller  Nicolai,  become  a 
dull  rationalism.  .  .  .  The  pantheism  of  Goe- 
the could  not  warm  the  hearts  of  the  masses  ;  Schil- 
ler's '  The  Sending  of  Moses '  would  scandalize  a 
believer,  and  to  be  '  poetical '  was  certainly  not  the 
same  as  to  be  *  sober.'  People  wished  to  be  en- 
thusiastic ;  they  wished  to  become  intoxicated  and 


-288  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

enraptured.  They  wished  to  believe  like  a  child, 
feel  the  knight's  enthusiasm  and  the  monk's  ecstasy  ; 
they  wished  to  rave  poetically,  dream  melodiously, 
bathe  in  moonshine,  mystically  feel  the  spirits  flit- 
ting in  the  Milky  Way.  They  wanted  to  hear  the 
grass  grow  and  understand  what  the  birds  said. 
Deep  into  the  moon-illumined  night  we  are  con- 
ducted by  Tieck — into  the  moonshine  of  which  he 
sings : 

"  '  Mondbeglanzte  Zaubernacht, 
Die  den  Sinn  gefangen  halt, 
Wundervolle  Miirchenwelt, 
Steig'  auf  in  der  alten  Pracht.'  "  * 

It  was  a  goodly  array  of  poets,  wits,  and  philoso- 
phers which,  in  the  year  1798,  gathered  about  the 
Romantic  banner  as  displayed  in  the  columns  of 
The  AlhenfEum,  the  first  organ  of  the  school.  It  is 
noticeable  that  they  were  nearly  all  young  men,  all 
sworn  enemies  of  the  PhilMerlhum  (Philistinism), 
all  filled  with  revolutionary  ardor  and  eager  for  bat- 
tle. Their  object,  as  the  first  number  of  their  jour- 
nal announces,  was  to  concentrate  jbhe  rays  of  cul- 
ture in  one  focus,  and  to  re-establish  the  eternal 
synthesis  of  poetry  and  philosophy.  This,  to  be 
sure,  is  rather  vague,  and  the  next  manifesto,  con- 
tained in  the  second  number  of  The  Athenaeum,  is 
not  much  more  explicit : 

"  Romantic  poetry  is  progi'essive  and  universal. 

*  G.  Brandes  :  Den  Romantiske  Skole  i  Tydskland,  pp. 
237,  238. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL  IN  GERMANY     289 

Its  aim  is  not  only  to  reunite  all  the  severed  branches 
of  poetic  art,  and  to  bring  poeti-y  into  contact  with 
pbilosopby  ;  it  is  also  to  blend  and  combine  poetry 
and  prose,  genius  and  criticism,  the  poetry  of  nature 
and  tbe  poetry  of  art,  make  poetiy  living  and  social, 
and  life  and  society  poetic.  .  .  .  Like  an  epos, 
it  is  to  be  the  mirror  of  all  the  surrounding  world, 
an  image  of  the  age.  .  .  .  Only  a  prophetic 
criticism  would  dare  to  characterize  its  ideal.  It 
alone  is  infinite,  because  it  alone  is  free  and  recog- 
nizes as  its  first  law  that  the  free  will  of  the  poet 
brooks  no  law  above  it ;  that  beauty  is  something 
apart  from  truth  and  morality,  and  is  entitled  to 
equal  rights.  .  .  .  Like  transcendental  idealism, 
Eomantic  poetry — and  in  a  certain  sense  all  poetry 
ought  to  be  romantic — should  in  representing  out- 
ward objects  also  represent  itself.  If  poetiy  is  to 
be  an  art,  then  the  poet  must  philosophize ;  in  the 
same  degree  as  poetry  is  made  a  science,  it  also  be- 
comes an  art." 

This  confused  document,  which  defies  every  ef- 
fort at  a  clear  and  accurate  translation,  is  remark- 
able as  showing  that  Romanticism  was,  from  its 
very  outset,  a  conscious  and  deliberate  movement. 
All  the  tendencies  which  during  the  next  decade 
blossomed  into  full  vigor  are  here  distinctly  indi- 
cated :  rebellion  against  existing  social  laws,  fore- 
shadowed by  the  hint  about  the  identification  of 
life  and  poetry,  the  sovereignty  of  genius,  and  the 
morbid  self-reflection  which,  by  co-ordinating  poetry 
with  philosoph}',  makes  it  a  speculative  art  and 


290  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

thereby  kills  that  warm  spontaneity  of  utterance  in 
which  rests  the  chief  strength  of  the  poet.  The  au- 
thor of  this  bold  manifesto  was  Friedrich  Schlegel, 
iu  whom  all  the  extravagances,  as  well  as  many  of 
the  nobler  qualities,  of  the  rising  school  found  their 
living  embodiment.  In  the  scope  and  reach  of  his 
faculties  he  was  excelled  by  few  of  his  Romantic 
colleagues.  His  mind,  thronged  with  fine  possibili- 
ties and  overflowing  with  a  certain  chaotic  fruitful- 
ness,  seems  to  have  resembled  an  antediluvian  land- 
scape ;  unruly  passions  like  dark  reptiles  slept  in 
its  depths  of  philosophic  contemplation  ;  trees  and 
ferns  of  strange,  primeval  growth  sprung  from  its 
soil ;  but  the  more  delicate  flowei's  of  sentiment 
seem  to  have  been  choked  by  these  luxuriant  ex- 
otics. The  description  given  by  his  most  intimate 
friend,  Schleiermacher,  will  make  the  portrait  of  this 
youthful  Titan  intelligible.  He  possessed,  evidently, 
not  only  the  strength  but  also  something  of  the 
coarseness,  of  the  primeval  race.  "He  is  exceed- 
ingly childlike,  open-hearted,  and  joyous  ;  naive  in 
all  his  expressions,  rather  inconsiderate,  a  mortal 
enemy  of  fox-mality  as  also  of  drudgery,  violent  in 
his  wishes  and  inclinations,  and,  as  children  are  apt 
to  be,  a  little  suspicious  and  full  of  antipathies. 
.  .  .  What  I  miss  in  him  is  the  delicate  sense 
for  all  the  charming  trifles  of  life,  and  for  the  finer 
expressions  of  beautiful  sentiments,  which  often  in 
little  things  spontaneously  reveal  the  entire  charac- 
ter. As  he  has  a  predilection  for  books  with  large 
type,  so  he  also  prefers  men  with  large  and  strong 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL  IN  GERMANY     29 1 

features.  What  is  only  tender  and  beaxitiful  does 
not  api^eal  to  him,  because,  judging  according  to  the 
analogy  of  his  own  nature,  he  regards  everything  as 
weak,  if  it  is  not  strong  and  fiery." 

The  society  of  Berlin,  at  the  time  when  Schlegel 
made  his  appearance  there,  was  divided  between 
numerous  conflicting  tendencies  in  morals,  philos- 
ophy, and  religion.  On  one  side  there  was  the 
sober,  utilitarian  life  of  the  "  Enlighteners,"  with 
whom  poetry,  religion,  and  even  human  passions 
were  recognized  only  so  far  as  they  were  useful, 
then  there  was  the  higher  fashionable  circle  which 
gathered  around  the  court,  and  in  which  religion 
possibly  was  worn  as  a  holiday  cloak  on  ecclesiasti- 
cal occasions,  but  at  other  times  abandoned  to  give 
place  to  licentiousness  and  coarse  unrestraint.  Half- 
way between  these  lay  the  society  of  the  Jewish 
salons,  where  black-eyed  Judiths  and  Rachels  and 
Rebeccas,  radiant  with  the  beauty  of  their  rich, 
Oriental  womanhood,  burned  incense,  somewhat  in- 
discriminately, to  every  new  candidate  for  literary 
laurels.  Goethe  was  the  idol  of  this  coterie,  Rahel 
Levin,  later  the  wife  of  the  diplomat,  Varnhagen 
von  Ense,  having  been  one  of  the  first  to  recognize 
the  greatness  of  his  genius  ;  but  besides  Goethe 
they  also  worshipped  Eugel  and  Rumler  and  a 
dozen  other  ephemeral  phenomena,  whose  very 
names  have  now  dropped  out  of  memory.  Rahel 
was  the  social  leader  in  this  interesting  sisterhood. 
Her  universal  sympathies  and  indifference  to  popu- 
lar prejudice  enabled  her  to  play  a  prominent  pax't 


292  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

in  the  capital,  and  made  her  the  intimate  friend  and 
confidante  of  two  generations  of  literary  celebrities. 
Acuteness  of  mind  coupled  with  a  certain  intellect- 
ual voracity,  defiance  of  the  restraints  which  society 
imposes  upon  her  sex — in  short,  all  the  peculiarities 
which  made  her  circle  so  attractive  to  men  of  let- 
ters were  combined  and,  as  it  were,  concentrated 
into  a  type  in  her  personality. 

Here,  in  her  house,  all  men,  whatever  their  party, 
position,  or  intellectual  predilections,  met  on  neu- 
tral ground.  Princes  of  the  blood,  and  aristocratic 
snobs,  here  rubbed  shoulders  with  literary  bobe- 
miaus,  statesmen,  and  poets.  All  questions  were 
debatable,  provided  they  were  debated  with  esprit. 
Everything  was  tolerated  except  dulness.  The 
great  problems  of  life  and  society  were  discussed, 
and  no  opinion,  however  extreme,  gave  offence,  if 
defended  with  ability  and  knowledge.  And  this 
tolerance  was  not  the  result  of  indifference,  but  of  an 
extraordinary  hospitality  to  new  ideas,  eagerness  to 
hear  all  sides,  and  a  delight  in  the  interchange  of 
forceful  and  significant  thought. 

Kahel  was  not  beautiful ;  nay,  even  as  a  young 
girl  she  was  almost  devoid  of  physical  attractions. 
Nor  did  she  seem  to  be  supremely  gifted.  She  was 
not  a  sparkling  conversationalist.  But  she  possessed 
a  rare  power  of  sympathy,  and  the  faculty  to  make 
everyone  who  came  in  contact  with  her  feel  at  his 
best.  She  always  appealed  to  that  which  was  high- 
est in  her  interlocutor ;  and  by  her  appreciation  and 
the  warm  glow  of  her  genial  presence  stimulated 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL  IN  GERMANY     293 

him  to  a  brilliancy  which  was,  perhaps,  ordinarily 
beyond  him. 

A  man  like  Schlegel  could  not,  of  course,  remain 
long  in  Berlin  without  drifting  into  this  coterie,  and 
the  day  when  he  was  first  introduced  into  Ealiel's 
salon  made  an  epoch  in  his  life.  It  was  here  that 
he  met  Dorothea  Veit,  daughter  of  Lessing's  friend, 
the  famous  Moses  Mendelssohn,  and  wife  of  the 
Jewish  banker  Veit.  This  Dorothea,  whose  name, 
together  with  that  of  Rahel,  henceforth  appears  on 
every  page  in  the  annals  of  the  Romantic  School, 
was,  to  say  the  least,  a  woman  of  unusual  attain- 
ments. As  a  young  girl  of  sixteen,  she  had,  ac- 
cording to  her  father's  wish,  married  the  prosaic 
banker  whose  intellectual  inferiority  to  herself,  and 
indifference  to  literature,  art,  and  all  the  things  which 
her  early  training  had  taught  her  to  worship  and 
revere,  must  gradually  have  widened  the  gulf  which 
already  from  the  beginning  separated  them.  Never- 
theless their  marriage  had  for  many  years  preserved 
an  outward  show  of  harmony,  and  Dorothea  was  al- 
ready the  mother  of  two  sons  when  her  acquaintance 
with  Schlegel  suddenly  called  to  life  the  slumbering 
dreams  of  her  youth,  and  fanned  the  torpid  passion 
of  her  nature  into  full  blaze.  Here  was  a  man  built, 
as  it  were,  in  a  larger  style  than  those  whom  she 
had  been  wont  to  meet  ;  a  man,  on  the  wide  hori- 
zon of  whose  mind  the  future  dawned  with  golden 
promise  ;  a  man  whose  very  faults  and  passions  by 
their  intensity  assumed  the  dimensions  of  grandeur. 
Schlegel  came,  saw,  and  conquered.     Never  until 


294  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

then  had  a  woman  made  any  lasting  impression 
upon  him  ;  he  felt  convinced  that  this  was  the  one 
love  of  his  life  ;  he  knew  that  his  love  was  returned  ; 
he  was  furthermore  aware  that  she  was  married, 
which  does  not  seem  to  have  caused  him  any  serious 
scruples.  He  jumped  at  the  conclusion  that  mar- 
riage was  an  irrational,  immoral,  and  objectionable 
institution,  which  ought  to  be  abolished.  The  re- 
sult was  what  might  have  been  expected.  Veit 
closed  his  eyes  as  long  as  it  was  possible,  and  at  last, 
when  he  learned  that  his  wife  neither  asked  nor  de- 
sired his  forgiveness,  he  consented  to  a  separation. 
"  Eejoice  with  me,"  Schlegel  writes  to  his  sister-in- 
law,  "  for  now  my  life  has  a  foundation  and  soil,  a 
centre  and  a  form.  Now  the  most  extraordinary 
things  ^Yill  be  accomplished."  In  another  letter  to 
his  brother  he  describes  his  beloved  in  the  follow- 
ing manner :  "  She  is  a  fine  woman  of  genuine 
worth ;  but  she  is  quite  simple,  and  has  no  thought 
for  anything  in  the  world  except  love,  music,  wit, 
and  philosophy.  In  her  arms  I  have  found  my  youth 
again,  and  I  can  now  no  more  reason  it  out  of  my 
life.  .  .  .  Even  if  I  cannot  make  her  happj-,  I 
can  at  least  hope  that  the  germ  of  happiness  in  her 
soul  will  thrive  in  the  sunshine  of  my  love,  so  that 
the  mists  which  envelop  it  may  no  more  be  able  to 
hinder  its  growth." 

It  was  at  this  time  that  the  first  chapters  of  that 
much-praised  and  much-reviled  romance, "  Lucinde," 
were  written,  and  if  there  were  not  too  much  pi'oof 
to  the  contrary,  we  should  prefer  to  believe  that  the 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL  IN  GERMANY     295 

book  was  a  pure  fiction,  and  had  not  been  suggested 
by  the  author's  relation  to  Dorothea.  The  latter 
herself  declared,  when  "  Lucinde  "  was  read  to  her, 
that  "poets  tell  tales  out  of  school."  It  seems 
almost  inconceivable  at  the  present  day  that  a  pro- 
duction so  chaotic,  so  wildly  extravagant,  and  so 
artistically  feeble,  could  have  made  so  much  noise 
in  a  land  and  at  a  time  which  rejoiced  in  the  living 
presence  of  poets  like  Goethe  and  Schiller. 

The  pervading  sentiment  of  the  book  is  one  of 
contempt  for  all  the  prosy  realities  of  life,  and  for 
all  the  rules  and  laws  with  which  man  has  im- 
prisoned his  spirit,  born  for  freedom,  Julius,  the 
hero,  like  all  romantic  heroes,  is  a  gentleman  of 
wealth  and  leisure.  He  is  a  dilettante  in  almost 
everything,  and  an  artist  by  inclination  but  not  by 
profession.  His  youthful  excesses  are  described  at 
great  length  ;  he  is  forever  craving  excitement,  and 
when  he  can  find  nothing  else  to  do,  he  feeds  as  it 
were  on  his  own  vitals,  indulges  in  a  sort  of  psycho- 
logical vivisection,  makes  the  minutest  observations 
on  each  of  his  passing  moods,  registers  the  result, 
reasons  over  it,  and  philosophically  accounts  for  it. 
This  is  the  realization  of  that  "  beautiful  self- 
reflection  "  which  Schlegel  in  his  first  manifesto  an- 
nounced as  being  the  essence  of  Romantic  poetry. 
It  is  this  same  vein  which  Chateaubriand  simulta- 
neously worked  with  so  much  success  in  his  "  Rene  " 
and  which  in  a  somewhat  modified  shape  has  found 
its  representative  in  Byron's  "  Childe  Harold."  In 
fact,  it  is  the  prevailing  mood  of  the  age,  which  the 


296  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

poets  naturally  were  the  more  keenly  conscious  of, 
through  the  greater  sensitiveness  of  their  mental 
organism.  Goethe  hacl  given  it  expression  in  "Wer- 
ther,"  Jean  Paul  in  "  Roquairol,"  and  Tieck  in  "Will- 
iam Lovell ; "  and  henceforward  the  Romantic  litera- 
ture teems  with  dissolute,  philosophic,  and  morbidly 
contemplative  young  men  and  maidens,  who,  with- 
out respect  for  moral  or  social  obligations,  live  only 
to  enjoy,  and  then,  when  the  natural  reaction  suc- 
ceeds the  intoxication  of  the  senses,  strike  tragically 
interesting  attitudes  before  a  mental  mirror,  and 
make  profound  observations  on  themselves  in  a 
carefully-kept  journal,  which  the  next  day  they  read 
to  an  appi'eciative  audience  of  intimate  female 
friends.  This,  in  brief  outline,  is  the  Romantic  type, 
aVid  a  glance  at  the  society  of  the  day  will  easily 
convince  one  that  the  poets  are  not  altogether  re- 
sponsible for  its  existence.  Its  most  conspicuous 
features  have  even  found  their  way  into  the  philo- 
sophic systems  of  the  time.  What  is,  for  instance, 
Fichte's  "  sovereign  I,"  which  creates  the  world  out 
of  the  depths  of  its  own  consciousness,  but  a  doc- 
trinal embodiment  of  the  Romantic  defiance  of  law 
and  social  order  ?  Again,  no  one  will  mistake  the 
Romantic  tendency  of  his  Wissenschaftslehre  (Doc- 
trine of  Science)  when  it  deals  with  his  favorite 
theme  of  self-contemplation.  In  order  to  under- 
stand the  external  phenomena  of  the  world,  which 
only  exist  in  their  relation  to  the  subject  or  to  his 
consciousness,  he  (the  subject)  must  watch  the 
modus  operandi  of  his  own  mind.    As  Heine  puts  it, 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL  IN  GERMANY     2^y 

the  thought  must  listen  to  itself  while  it  thinks. 
The  philosophic  thinker  is  like  the  inonkej'  Avho  took 
it  into  his  head  to  boil  his  own  tail.  For,  as  he  rea- 
soned, the  most  refined  art  of  cookery  does  not  con- 
sist in  crude  objective  boiling,  but  in  the  subjective 
consciousness  of  being  boiled. 

It  is  in  the  portrayal  and  analysis  of  these  ever- 
shifting  moods  that  the  author  of  "  Luciude  "  has  his 
forte.  Here,  for  instance,  is  a  piece  of  character- 
ization which  is  drawn  from  experience  :  "  A  love 
without  object  burned  within  him  (Julius)  and  con- 
sumed his  heart.  On  the  slightest  provocation  the 
flames  of  his  passion  blazed  up.  .  .  .  His  spirit 
was  in  a  state  of  constant  ferment ;  he  was  always 
expecting  that  something  extraordinary  was  going 
to  happen  to  him.  Thus  nothing  could  really  have 
surprised  him,  and  least  of  all  his  own  destruction. 
Without  any  business  or  aim,  he  roamed  about  like 
a  man  who  is  anxiously  seeking  something  on 
which  he  might  risk  his  whole  happiness.  Every- 
thing excited,  but  nothing  satisfied  him.  Hence  it 
was  that  a  dissipation  only  interested  him  as  long 
as  it  was  untried  and  unknown  ;  there  was  as  much 
scorn  in  his  nature  as  levity.  He  could  pi'eserve  his 
coolness  in  the  midst  of  a  sensual  revel,  and,  as  it 
were,  studiously  measure  the  enjoyment  :  but 
neither  in  this  nor  in  the  many  fanciful  studies  and 
occupations,  into  which  he  plunged  with  youthful 
enthusiasm  and  a  certain  voracious  hunger  for  knowl- 
edge, did  he  find  that  supreme  bliss  which  his 
heart  so  vehemently  demanded." 


298  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

Then,  at  length,  Julius  makes  the  acquaintance  of 
a  woman,  Luciude,  who,  like  himself,  is  an  amateur 
in  art,  and  who  shares  his  contempt  for  the  world 
with  all  its  emptiness.  "  She  lived,"  says  the  author, 
"  not  in  this  commonplace  world,  but  in  a  world  of 
her  own  imagining.  She,  too,  had  by  one  daring 
resolution  thrown  away  all  considerations  find  broken 
all  bonds,  and  now  lived  in  perfect  freedom." 

Now  the  veil  suddenly  falls  from  Julius's  eyes,  his 
art  becomes  warmer  and  more  animated,  and  a  life 
of  brighter  promise  dawns  before  him.  Lucinde 
loves  him,  and  he  too,  after  a  fashion,  loves  her  ; 
that  is  to  say,  the  feeling  with  which  she  inspires 
him  affords  him  a  new  subject  for  study.  For  love, 
according  to  Schlegel,  is  not  that  sudden,  sponta- 
neous flowering  of  the  soul,  that  impetuous,  gener- 
ous, and  self-forgetful  emotion  which  the  romancers 
of  all  ages  have  delighted  in  picturing,  but  rather 
an  empiric  science,  a  curious  medley  of  sensuality 
and  speculative  philosophy,  with  a  slight  admixture 
of  tenderness. 

In  justice  to  the  author  we  must  remark  that  in 
his  own  life  his  heart  put  his  intellect  to  shame. 
He  never  wavered  in  his  devotion  to  the  woman  who 
for  his  sake  had  braved  the  judgment  of  the  world 
and  exchanged  a  life  of  ease  and  luxury  for  one  of 
vain  and  aimless  wanderings.  Their  love,  in  spite 
of  its  lawlessness,  was  its  own  law,  and  needed,  ac- 
cording to  their  own  testimony,  no  social  statute  to 
shield  it ;  for  it  rested  on  the  sure  foundation  of 
real  kinship  of  soul.     It  was  not  until  many  years 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL  IN  GERMANY     299 

after  they  had  joined  their  fates  together,  when 
persecution  and  want  had  quelled  their  revolution- 
ary ardor,  that  they  suffered  their  union  to  be  sanc- 
tioned by  the  church.  Then  their  social  ostracism 
was  at  an  end,  Schlegel  obtained  a  position  in 
Vienna,  and  Dorothea  could  again  show  her  face  in 
the  company  of  virtuous  matrons. 

The  book  fell  like  a  bombshell  into  the  peaceful 
circles  of  Berlin  society.  An  open  attack  upon  the 
holy  institution  of  marriage  and  an  undisguised 
avowal  of  the  doctrine  of  free-love  could  not  fail  to 
arouse  the  indignation  of  those  whose  office  it  was 
to  guard  the  public  morality.  Schlegel  was  hunted 
from  place  to  place  ;  in  Gottingen  the  authorities 
refused  him  entrance  to  the  city.  In  Berlin  he  was 
notified  that,  if  he  attempted  to  lecture,  the  police 
would  interfere,  and  even  in  the  academic  halls  of 
the  University  of  Jena,  where  he  disputed  for  his 
degree  of  Pli.D.,  he  was  overwhelmed  with  invec- 
tive and  abuse.  No  doubt  he  had  the  satisfaction 
of  believing  himself  a  martyr  for  a  good  cause,  and 
Dorothea,  whose  enthusiastic  faith  in  his  greatness 
never  flagged,  did  her  best  to  uphold  him  in  this 
conviction.  To  be  sure,  her  womanly  instincts  were 
too  fine  not  to  make  her  at  times  doubt  the  expe- 
diency of  "  Lucinde's  "  publication  ;  in  fact,  we  learn 
from  a  letter  of  hers  to  Schleiermacher  that  she 
rather  regretted  that  her  Friedrich  had  written  the 
book  ;  but  if  Schleiermacher  had  ventured  to  agree 
with  her,  we  dare  say  that  she  would  have  promptly 
retracted  her  opinion.     "In  regard  to  'Luciude,'" 


300  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

she  writes,  "I  often  shudder  with  cold,  and  then 
again  burn  with  shame,  to  see  that  which  to  me  was 
the  most  secret  and  the  mosb  holy  exposed  to  the 
view  of  curious  and  hostile  men.  In  vain  he  tries  to 
strengthen  me  by  the  thought  that  you  would  have 
been  even  bolder  than  he.  It  is  not  the  boldness 
which  frightens  me.  Nature  celebrates  the  adora- 
tion of  the  Most  High  in  open  temples  and  over  the 
whole  world — but  love  ?  " 

In  Rahel's  coterie  "  Lucinde  "  naturally  excited  the 
liveliest  interest.  The  tone  of  this  society  had  al- 
ways been  of  the  freest,  and  its  members,  carried 
away  by  the  fervor  and  aesthetic  susceptibility  of 
their  temperaments,  had  often  strayed  beyond  what 
the  Philistine  world  regarded  as  the  boundary-line 
of  propriety.  Their  characters  had,  to  begin  with, 
been  further  removed  from  prudery  than  moralists 
might  have  deemed  desirable ;  and  now  came 
Schlegel  with  his  "  Lucinde,"  and  the  last  remnant  of 
the  veil  of  Isis  wa-3  torn  away.  Women  like  Rahel, 
whose  lives  and  conduct  were  above  reproach,  had 
sudden  attacks  of  artistic  depravity,  and  there  was 
not  a  thing  in  heaven  or  on  earth  which  they 
blushed  to  discuss.  They  were  convinced  that  "  Lu- 
cinde "  was  destined  to  revolutionize  society  and  es- 
tablish a  freer  relation  between  the  sexes  ;  and  for 
the  time  being  it  really  seemed  as  if  the  prophecy  was 
to  be  fulfilled.  The  intellectual  women  of  the  day 
especially  showed  a  great  willingness  to  break  the 
ancient  fetters.  Schlegel's  definition  of  marriage 
as   "  devotion   unfettered "    was   joyfully   received. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL  IN  GERMANY     3OI 

Scbleiermacher,  then  minister  of  the  Charite  Church 
in  Berlin,  cherished  a  profound  admiration  for  the 
Jewess  Henriette,  the  wife  of  the  physician  Herz, 
one  of  the  chief  ornaments  of  Eahel's  circle.  Hen- 
riette cordially  returned  his  sentiments  of  affection 
and  regard,  and  their  relation  soon  ripened  into  the 
most  intimate  friendship.  Here,  indeed,  we  find 
a  realization,  not  of  the  relation  which  "Lucinde" 
deals  with,  but  of  a  far  higher  and  nobler  one, 
which  the  author  of  "Lucinde  "  would  have  been  in- 
capable of  comprehending.  Henriette,  according  to 
the  testimony  of  contemporaries,  was  a  woman  of 
magnificent  form  and  stature,  and  bore  a  resem- 
blance to  one  of  Titian's  most  beautiful  heads.  Her 
character  was  proud,  with  perhaps  a  touch  of  defi- 
ance ;  her  impressible  yet  vigorous  mind  could 
grasp  and  retain  the  most  abstruse  ideas  ;  her  cult- 
ure was  broad  and  many-sided ;  her  command  of 
picturesque  language,  and  her  dialectic  skill,  as  her 
published  correspondence  with  Scbleiermacher  tes- 
tifies, were  truly  marvellous.  And  yet  her  attitude 
toward  her  friend  is  so  womanly  !  She  clothes  his 
abstract  speculations  in  a  bodily  form,  as  it  were, 
and  imparts  to  them  the  warm  flush  of  her  own  in- 
tense and  sympathetic  nature.  No  wonder  that  he 
who  had  half-jocosely  expressed  his  desire  "  to  take 
a  course  in  womanliness"  became  gradually  moi-e 
and  more  dependent  upon  her,  rejoiced  in  the  in- 
tellectual stimulus  her  society  afforded  him,  and 
confided  to  her  the  most  secret  thoughts  and  desires 
of  his  heart.     Schleierniacher  was  a  singularly  pure- 


302  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

minded  and  unsophisticated  man,  and  when  ignoble 
whispers  concerning  his  relation  to  Henriette  began 
to  I'each  his  ears,  he  showed  a  sincere  surprise,  and 
even  attempted  to  justify  himself.  Not  so  with  her  ; 
she  had  known  from  the  vei-y  beginning  what  she 
risked  by  accepting  his  friendship,  but  she  had- 
calmly  decided  that  he  was  worth  more  to  her  than 
the  opinion  of  the  world. 

The  account  of  their  studies,  mutual  confessions, 
doubts,  and  resolutions,  preserved  in  their  own  cor- 
respondence and  in  that  of  their  friends,  giving  us  a 
glimpse  of  two  beautiful  and  original  characters,  is 
one  of  the  most  fascinating  chapters  which  the  his- 
tory of  the  Romantic  School  has  to  show.  The  only 
doubt  which  harasses  us,  the  only  question  which 
remains  unanswered  is,  how  Di'.  Hertz  bore  this 
seeming  neglect  of  himself,  and  whether  he  sanc- 
tioned his  wife's  intimacy  with  the  aesthetic  clergy- 
man. But  there  was  revolution  in  the  air,  and  it 
was  rather  the  fashion  to  shock  one's  fellow-men  ;  so 
Dr.  Hertz,  knowing  his  own  inferiority  to  his  wife, 
probably  accepted  the  inevitable. 

That  Schleiermacher  himself,  however,  was  occa- 
sionally in  the  dark  regarding  the  nature  of  his 
feelings  toward  Henriette,  the  following  extract 
from  a  letter  to  his  sister,  in  spite  of  its  confident 
tone,  sufficiently  proves:  "You  are  afraid  of  rela- 
tions of  tenderness  and  intimacy  with  persons  of  the 
other  sex,  and  no  doubt  you  are  right ;  to  keep 
watch  over  myself  is  my  constant  endeavor ;  I  call 
myself  to  account  for  the  most  trifling  thing.     I  be- 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL  IN  GERMANY     303 

long  to  Heuriette's  existence  ;  passion  will  ever  be 
excluded  fx'om  our  friendship,  for  it  has  ah'eady  en- 
dured the  most  decisive  tests.  It  is  deeply  implanted 
in  my  nature  that  I  can  become  more  closely  at- 
tached to  women  than  to  men  ;  for  there  is  so  much 
in  me  which  only  a  woman  can  understand.  I  must, 
then,  if  I  will  not  renounce  a  true  friendship,  remain 
standing  on  this  otherwise  dangerous  point.  In  re- 
gard to  what  you  write  about  the  appearance,  I  have 
my  own  principles  on  that  subject ;  I  believe  that  it 
is  plainly  a  part  of  my  office  to  despise  it.  It  is  my 
simple  duty." 

In  another  letter  he  makes  the  discovery  that,  if 
he  could  have  married  Henriette,  it  would  have 
been  nearly  an  ideal  marriage  ;  the  only  objection, 
aside  from  the  fact  that  it  is  an  impossibility,  is  that 
their  wedded  life  would  have  been  rather  too  har- 
monious. 

It  is  difficult  to  decide  whether  it  was  Schleier- 
macher's  desire  to  justify  himself  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world,  or  a  disinterested  friendship  for  Schlegel, 
which  induced  him  to  enter  the  lists  and  break  a 
lance  in  defence  of  "  Lucinde."  At  all  events,  con- 
sidering his  social  position  as  preacher  of  the  gospel 
in  the  Prussian  capital,  it  was  a  most  audacious 
thing  for  him  to  do.  In  his  confidential  letters  on 
"Lucinde,"  addressed  to  three  female  friends,  in 
one  of  whom  the  public  recognized  his  Henriette, 
he  boldly  attacks  the  prudish  insincerity  of  the  age, 
which  took  a  secret  delight  in  the  lascivious  ro- 
mances of  Wieland,  and  gloated  over  the  coarse 


304  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

platitudes  of  Lafontaine,'  wliile  it  cried  out  in  virtu- 
ous horror  at  the  immorality  of  Schlegel,  who,  deal- 
ing with  essentially  the  same  thing,  had  the  courage 
to  call  it  by  its  right  name. 

We  might  select  a  dozen  more  instances  from  the 
private  and  public  life  of  the  Romanticists,  showing 
that  the  school  in  its  early  rebellion  against  the 
prejudices  of  society  went  to  the  opposite  extreme, 
and  methodically  arranged  as  a  new  system  of 
ethics  what  had  hitherto  been  regarded  as  abnormal 
phases  of  human  intercourse.  Amid  a  great  deal  of 
youthful  folly,  amid  a  great  deal  that  was  accidental, 
extravagant,  and  purely  personal,  there  was  also 
sufficient  talent,  earnestness,  and  justice  on  the  side 
of  the  iconoclastics  to  insure  a  certain  degree  of  suc- 
cess, and  a  sufficient  amount  of  immorality,  hollow- 
ness,  and  in-eligion  among  the  adherents  of  the  old 
to  lend  a  shadow  of  justice  to  the  rebellion.  Schle- 
gel, who,  like  many  another  young  man,  mistook 
his  own  personal  peculiarities  for  universal  laws, 
and  the  momentary  cravings  of  his  heart  for  the 
voice  of  humanity,  was  unfortunately  during  this 
period  the  spokesman,  and,  to  the  eyes  of  the  world, 
the  public  representative  of  Romanticism.  His 
mind  Avas  so  constituted  that  even  the  simplest 
truism,  as  soon  as  he  attempted  to  utter  it,  assumed 
the  shape  of  a  paradox.  It  was  in  the  nature  of  the 
case,  then,  that  when  he  defended  a  proposition 
which  in  itself  closely  bordered  on  the  paradoxical, 

'  A  popular  German  novelist ;  not  the  Frencliman  of  the 
same  name. 


THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL  IN  GERMANY     30S 

it  assumed  the  most  monstrous  dimensions,  and 
frightened  even  those  who  were  half-inclined  to  agree 
with  him.  In  his  glorification  of  the  haipai,  "the 
free  women  of  Greece,"  the  Romantic  paradox  of 
maiTiage  culminated. 

"All  marriages,"  he  writes,  "  are  nothing  but  con- 
cubinages, morganatic  marriages,  or,  rather,  pro- 
visional attempts  at  man-iage.  .  .  .  The  domestic 
man  clings  to  the  hearth  where  he  gets  his  food  ; 
gradually,  as  he  ripens,  he  begins  to  strike  root  like 
a  plant,  and  renounces  the  foolish  wish  to  move 
about  according  to  pleasure,  until  at  length  he  be- 
comes a  fossil.  Man  in  his  civic  aspect  is  a  machine, 
.  .  .  the  individual  as  the  whole  multitude.  He 
feeds,  marries,  grows  old,  and  leaves  children  be- 
hind him,  and  so  on  ad  infinituvi.  To  live  merely 
for  the  sake  of  living  is  the  real  source  of  all  vulgar- 
ity. .  .  .  According  to  the  idea  of  the  ancients, 
the  nobility  of  human  nature  should  prevail  in  man 
as  well  as  in  woman.  The  character  of  the  race 
should  be  predominant  over  the  diverging  qualities 
of  the  sexes.  In  modern  society  the  very  opposite 
is  the  case.  We  can  never  represent  a  woman  suf- 
ficiently weak  and  womanly,  and  we  take  it  for 
granted  that  she  must  be  so.  This  view  has  the 
most  injurious  effect  upon  those  artistic  representa- 
tions which  are  meant  to  be  ideal.  We  include  in 
our  idea  of  woman  features  which  are  merely  derived 
from  experience.  ...  In  Athens,  where  the 
public  judgment  was  equally  far  removed  from  silly 
prudery  and  from  lawless  indifference,  where  only 


306  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

what  was  evil  was  improper,  where  there  were  none 
of  those  prejudices  which  with  barbarians  take  the 
place  of  moral  feeling,  there  the  wisest  man  of  his 
age  (Socrates)  could  engage  in  conversation  with  a 
frivolous  priestess  of  joy.  .  ,  .  This  pecuUar 
position  of  woman  in  Greece  is  justified  by  the  en- 
deavor to  refine  manhood  as  well  as  womanhood  into 
the  higher  unit  of  humanity  (Menschlichkeit).  .  .  , 
What  we  moderns  call  womanliness  is  nothing  but  a 
total  lack  of  character.  The  Greeks  made  the  mis- 
take of  placing  their  ideal,  cultivated,  free  women 
outside  of  the  social  order  of  morality  ;  we  moderns 
make  a  far  greater  mistake  in  altogether  separating 
ideality  and  aU  kindred  qualities  from  our  idea  of 
woman." 

Some  later  essays  on  similar  subjects  are  openly 
addressed  to  Dorothea,  and  in  these  the  author 
brings  his  heaviest  artillery  into  the  field.  But  I 
must  forbear  to  quote,  especially  as  I  do  not  wish 
to  take  the  responsibility  of  deciding  whether  Schle- 
gel,  in  his  last  conclusions,  was  really  in  earnest. 
He  ends  with  asking  whether,  as  an  experiment,  a 
marriage  en  quatre  would  not  be  a  good  thing.  Here 
the  paradox  indeed  reaches  the  dangerous  point, 
where  it  threatens  to  topple  over  and  crush  its  own 
foundation. 


XII. 

NOVALIS  AND  THE   BLUE   FLOWER 

GERMAN  Romanticism  is  generally  character- 
ized as  being  a  retrogressive  movement,  an  at- 
tempted revival  of  feudalism  and  a  reaction  toward 
Catliolicism.  A  Eomauticist,  in  tbe  modern  accep- 
tation of  the  term,  is  a  man  who  places  himself  in  a 
hostile  attitude  toward  the  progressive  spirit  of  the 
age,  and  tries  by  artificial  means  to  revive  "  the 
good  old  times."  That  the  phase  of  Romanticism 
represented  by  Friedrich  Schlegel  and  Schleier- 
macher  in  the  early  stages  of  their  careers  was  any- 
thing but  Catholic  or  conservative,  my  former  article 
on  this  subject  must  have  sufficiently  proved.  The 
man  who  gave  the  strongest  religious  impulse  to  the 
school,  and  whose  character  more  nearly  approaches 
our  present  idea  of  the  Romantic  type,  was  Fried- 
rich  von  Hardenberg,  more  commonly  known  by  the 
nom  de  plume  Novalis. 

Who  does  not  know  Heine's  story  of  the  young 
girl,  sister  of  the  postmistress  near  Gottingen,  who 
read  consumj^tion  out  of  Novalis's  romance,  "  Hein- 
rich  von  Ofterdingen  ?"  It  may  seem  iirelevant  in 
this  connection,  but  nevertheless  it  conveys  an  idea 


308  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

of  a  certain  subtle  quality  in  this  author's  genius 
which  a  more  direct  critical  analysis  might  fail  to 
detect.  Novalis  was  one  of  those  whom  death  had 
early  marked  for  its  own.  A  hectic  flush  burned 
upon  his  cheeks,  his  exquisitely  chiselled  lips  indi- 
cated extreme  sensitiveness,  and  his  large  blue  eyes, 
whose  gaze  appeared  to  be  turned  inward,  shone 
with  a  deep,  unearthly  lustre.  Even  the  one  strong 
passion  of  his  life,  his  love  for  the  twelve-year-old 
child,  Sophie  von  Kiihn,  seems  to  have  been  a  kind 
of  ethereal,  sexless  feeling,  a  mere  poetic  devotion, 
purged  of  the  earthy  element  which  clings  to  the  pas- 
sions of  men.  No  one  will  wonder  that  the  poetry 
springing  from  such  a  relation  lacks  that  virile 
quality  and  that  robust  health  which  characterize 
the  lyrics  of  poets  like  Goethe,  or  even  Schiller  be- 
fore he  had  drunk  too  deeply  of  Kantian  philosophy. 
Nevertheless,  the  vei'ses  of  Novalis  have  a  vague, 
spiritual,  not  to  say  phantasmal  beauty  of  their  own  ; 
they  fascinate  by  their  very  strangeness  ;  their  fleet- 
ing perfume  lures  the  sense  by  its  very  deftness  in 
evading  its  grasp  ;  they  gleam  with  that  "light  that 
never  was  on  sea  or  land  ; "  they  move  onward  with 
a  delicious,  subdued  splendor  of  cadence  that  falls 
upon  the  ear  like  melodious  whispers  fi-om  distant 
fairy  realms.  Excelling  as  they  do  in  rhythmical 
effects  and  tuneful  transitions  rather  than  in  strength 
of  thought  and  splendor  of  imagination,  they  baffle 
the  translator's  art.  It  would  be  as  easy  for  a 
flower-painter  to  bind  the  perfume  of  the  lily  to  his 
canvas  as  for  a  translator  to  transfer  the  fleeting 


NOVALIS  AND   THE  BLUE  FLOWER      309 

beauty  of  Novalis's  songs  into  a  foreign  tongue.  An 
attempt  has  been  made  by  an  Englisli  writer,*  but 
be  who  knows  the  Spiritual  Songs  in  the  original 
will  keenly  feel  the  shortcomings  of  the  English 
renderings. 

The  early  education  of  Novalis  was  calculated  to 
develop  the  mystic  tendencies  of  his  nature.  His 
father,  a  stern,  grave  man  of  commanding  appear- 
ance, belonged  to  the  so-called  Hernhutters,  or  Mo- 
ravian Brethren,  a  sect  which,  without  essentially  dif- 
fering from  Lutheran  orthodoxy  in  its  doctrinal 
tenets,  censured  the  laxity  of  its  moral  discipline 
and  demanded  a  return  to  the  early  Christian  sim- 
plicity of  life.  Tieck,  who  as  a  friend  of  Novalis 
visited  his  home,  has  given  a  quaint  and  interesting 
account  of  the  daily  life  of  the  family.  *'  The  old 
Hardenberg,"  says  he,  "  stood  like  a  patriarch 
among  his  gifted  sons  and  his  amiable  daughters. 
.  .  .  He  praised  and  loved  the  much-abused  old 
times,  and  whenever  he  had  an  opportunity  he 
boldly  expressed  his  views  or  flared  up  in  sudden 
indignation."  At  certain  times,  Tieck  further  relates, 
the  father  was  in  the  habit  of  testing  the  orthodoxy 
of  his  children,  and  then  stormy  scenes  were  of  no 
infrequent  occurrence.  Once,  on  hearing  a  great 
noise  in  the  next  room,  Tieck  anxiously  asked  the 
sei-vant  what  had  happened.  "Nothing,"  was  the 
careless  answer,  "  it  is  only  the  master  giving  relig- 
ious instruction." 

At  the  University  of  Jena,  Novalis  made  the  ao- 
*  George  Macdoiiald. 


3IO  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

quaintance  of  Schiller,  whose  " Eobbers  " and  "Don 
Carlos  "  had  filled  him  with  an  ardent  love  and  rever- 
ence for  their  author.  Schiller,  who  at  once  recog- 
nized the  extraordinary  talents  of  the  young  man, 
took  a  very  kindly  interest  in  him,  gave  him  the 
benefit  of  his  advice  and  instruction,  and  even  for 
several  years  kept  up  a  correspondence  with  him. 
Novalis's  letters,  which  have  been  published  among 
his  posthumous  papers,  read  more  like  the  passionate 
effusions  of  a  young  maiden  to  her  lover  than  the 
communications  of  a  scholar  to  his  teacher  ;  he 
nearly  exhausts  the  vocabulary  of  his  native  tongue 
in  trying  to  find  words  strong  enough  to  convey  his 
unbounded  homage  and  admiration.  But  Novalis 
was  of  a  sympathetic  and  affectionate  nature,  and 
moreover  he  was  a  poet  and  a  German.  For  him  the 
step  from  the  poem  to  the  poet's  personality  was  a 
short  one.  He  feels  the  same  kind  of  personal 
friendship  and  attachment  for  Homer  as  he  does  for 
Schiller.  The  Wolfian  theory  does  not  in  the  least 
disturb  him.  "Oh,"  he  exclaims,  "if  I  could  but 
fall  upon  the  neck  of  the  singer  of  the  '  Odyssey,' and 
hide  my  blushing  face  in  the  thick,  venerable  beard 
of  the  worthy  old  man  !  " 

His  intercourse  with  Friedrich  Schlegel  opened 
Novalis's  eyes  to  the  greatness  of  Goethe,  and  when, 
in  the  spring  of  1795,  "  Wilhelm  Meister  "  appeared, 
"  the  great  Pagan  "  threatened  to  gain  the  place  in 
his  affections  which  had  hitherto  belonged  to  Schil- 
ler. Schlegel  had  in  his  usual  paradoxical  way  de- 
clared that  "  'Wilhelm  Meister,' Fichte's  Doctrine  of 


NOVALIS  AND  THE  BLUE  FLOWER      311 

Science,  and  the  French  Revolution  were  the  great- 
est phenomena  of  the  century  ;  "  and  Novalis,  whose 
flexible  mind  was  at  this  time  strongly  influenced 
by  his  aggressive  friend,  readily  subscribed  to  this 
verdict.  "  Fichte  and  Goethe  "  became  the  watch- 
word of  both,  and  the  constant  theme  of  their  con- 
versation. The  idealism  of  Fichte  they  £till  further 
idealized,  and  the  freedom  from  moral  restraints 
which  characterizes  Goethe's  romance  they  pushed 
even  beyond  the  boundary  line  which  the  liberal 
author  had  fixed.  But  the  i-adicalism  of  Novalis, 
which  is,  no  doubt,  chiefly  attributable  to  his  asso- 
ciation with  Schlegel,  was  of  short  duration.  The 
death  of  his  betrothed,  Sophie,  who  was  then  fifteen 
years  old,  dispelled  these  intellectual  vagaries  and 
plunged  him  back  into  his  native  mysticism.  His 
sorrow  knew  no  bounds  ;  for  three  days  and  nights 
he  shut  himself  up  in  his  room  and  wept,  then  moved 
to  Tennstadt,  where  she  was  buried,  and  sat  at  her 
grave,  brooding  over  his  loss.  Darkness  closed 
around  him,  the  light  of  day  seemed  odious  to  him, 
and  the  scenes  of  life  passed  like  a  horrible,  mean- 
ingless pageant  before  his  eyes.  The  thought  of 
suicide  haunted  him,  and  he  was  on  the  verge  of 
despair,  when  at  length  Sophie,  yielding  to  his 
prayers,  appeared  to  him  in  a  vision  and  brought 
him  comfort.  Then  his  old  gift  of  song  came  to 
his  rescue  ;  although  not  altogether  abandoning  the 
thought  of  death,  he  still  resolved  to  live,  and  his 
sorrow  gained  a  voice  in  a  series  of  poems  entitled 
*'  Hymns  to  the  Night."     "  If  I  have  hitherto  lived  in 


3 1 2  GERM  A  AT  LITER  A  TURE 

the  present,"  he  writes,  "  and  in  the  hope  of  earthly 
happiness,  I  must  now  live  altogether  in  the  real 
future,  in  my  faith  in  God  and  immortality.  It  will 
be  very  diflScult  to  me  to  separate  myself  from  this 
world  which  I  have  studied  with  so  much  affection  ; 
frequent  relapses  will  bring  me  many  a  sorrowful 
moment,  but  I  know  that  there  is  a  power  in  man 
which  by  assiduous  care  can  be  developed  into  a  re- 
markable energy." 

Again,  speaking  of  Sophie's  death  :  "  The  flower- 
petal  has  been  wafted  over  into  the  other  world. 
The  reckless  player  throws  up  his  hand  and  smiles, 
as  if  awakened  from  a  dream,  listening  to  the  last 
call  of  the  watchman,  and  waiting  for  the  glow  of 
the  morning  which  shall  rouse  him  to  renewed  life 
in  the  world  of  reality." 

But  this  first  glow  of  the  morning  is  long  com- 
ing ;  and  long  the  poet  waits  in  vain.  Nevertheless, 
in  the  midst  of  his  grief,  when  the  violent  emotion 
might  be  expected  to  banish  all  thought  of  self,  his 
attitude  is  that  of  a  true  Romanticist.  His  self- 
consciousness  never  for  a  moment  leaves  him  ;  his 
eye  is  constantly  turned  inward,  and  its  keen  sight 
penetrates  into  the  darkest  chambers  of  his  mind. 
With  a  half-psychological,  half-poetical  interest  he 
watches  the  crescendos  and  diminuendos  of  his  emo- 
tions, records  in  his  journal  the  results  of  his  ob- 
servations, and  upbraids  himself  whenever  a  note  of 
natural,  worldly  joy  mingles  in  the  transcendental 
harmonies  of  his  soul.  He  stimulates  his  grief  by 
artificial  means  in  order  to  keep  it  up  to  the  proper 


NOVALIS  AND   THE  BLUE  FLOWER      313 

pitch.  If  Novalis  had  not  from  his  earliest  youth 
breathed  the  air  of  philosophical  abstraction,  and  if 
he  had  not  lived  in  an  age  which  was  universally 
afflicted  with  this  habit  of  morbid  introspection, 
we  might  be  justified  in  regarding  these  delicately 
retouched  negatives  of  his  mental  states  as  insincere 
and  affected.  But  a  deeper  knowledge  of  Novalis's 
character  excludes  such  a  supposition  ;  he  was,  in 
the  truest  sense  of  the  word,  a  child  of  his  time,  and 
it  is  perhaps  the  best  proof  of  his  sincerity  that  he 
followed  it  in  its  extravagances,  shared  its  infirmi- 
ties, and  respected  its  limitations. 

The  "  Hymns  to  the  Night "  open  with  an  apostro- 
phe in  prose  to  "  the  all-rejoicing  light  with  its 
colors,  its  rays,  its  undulations,  its  gentle  omnipres- 
ence, as  awakening  day."  Then  the  poet  turns  to 
"  the  holy,  inexpressible,  mysterious  night,"  in 
whose  darkness  he  beholds  "  the  memories  and 
wishes  of  his  youth,  the  dreams  of  his  childhood, 
the  brief  joj's  and  vain  hopes  of  his  whole  life, 
marching  before  him,  draped  in  gray  garments  like 
mists  of  the  evening  when  the  sun  has  set."  His 
beloved  is  hidden  in  the  impenetrable  night ;  there- 
fore he  loves  the  night  better  than  the  day.  "Em- 
brace with  spirit  passion  my  body,"  he  exclaims, 
"  that  I  may  become  more  inwardly  blended  with 
thee,  and  that  my  bridal  night  may  last  forever." 

A  mixture  of  sensuous  pleasure  with  high  re- 
ligious raptures  gives  a  curious  interest  to  these 
hymns  of  Novalis.  It  is  as  if  this  earthly  body 
which  he  is  resolved  to  renounce  and  to  mortify,  in 


314  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

spite  of  him,  again  and  again  asserted  its  riglats ;  as 
if  his  spiritual  nature  struggled  desperately  to  break 
loose  from  the  trammels  of  the  flesh,  and  in  the 
ardor  of  the  combat  gathered  strength  to  rise  to 
loftier  flights.  But  this  forcible  heightening  of 
eveiy  sensation,  these  endless  distorted  attitudes  of 
ecstasy  and  despair,  indicate  a  state  of  mental  dis- 
ease. Novalis  seems  himself  to  have  been  aware 
that  his  was  not  the  normal  condition  of  humanity, 
but  this  does  not  disturb  him.  The  Romantic  poet, 
according  to  Friedrich  Schlegel's  manifesto,  knows 
no  law  except  his  own  sovereign  will,  and  where  he 
diflfers  from  the  rest  of  humanity,  the  presumption 
is  that  humanity  is  in  the  wrong.  Thus  Novalis 
also  performs  a  series  of  philosophical  somersaults, 
and  ends  with  the  conclusion  that  disease  is  pref- 
erable to  health.  For  "life,"  he  says,  "is  a  dis- 
ease of  the  spirit." 

A  volume  of  fragments,  published  under  the  title 
of  "  Flower  Dust "  (BlUthenstaub)  contains  numerous 
abstruse  speculations  on  these  same  subjects,  of  life 
and  death,  health  and  disease,  pain  and  pleasure, 
etc.  There  is  no  obscure  region  of  the  soul  which 
the  mystic  poet  has  not  attempted  to  explore,  there 
is  no  human  emotion  so  ethereal  and  fleeting  as  to 
evade  his  search,  and  no  object  in  heaven  or  on 
earth  too  mean  or  too  exalted  for  his  earnest  interest 
and  consideration.  Here  we  find  a  striking  aphor- 
ism embodying  some  homely  truth,  in  the  next  para- 
graph a  conjecture  as  to  the  nature  of  the  divine 
trinity,  and  a  few  lines  further  on  some  mere  per- 


NOVA  LIS  AND   THE  BLUE  FLOWER     31$ 

sonal  item,  a  literary  project,  a  sigh  of  regi-et  and 
resignation,  or  a  half  subdued  sob  for  the  death  of 
the  beloved. 

The  author  has  himself  fairly  estimated  the  value 
of  these  fragments  when  he  says : 

"  The  art  of  writing  books  has  not  yet  been  dis- 
covered, but  it  is  on  the  point  of  being  discovered. 
Fragments  of  this  kind  are  literary  seed-com. 
There  may  be  many  a  barren  grain  among  them, 
however,  if  only  some  will  sprout.     .     .     ." 

From  the  whole  number,  amounting  to  upward 
of  a  thousand,  we  select  the  following  for  transla- 
tion : 

"  Goethe  is  the  true  steward  of  the  poetic  spirit 
on  earth." 

"Poetrj'  is  absolute  reality.  This  is  the  kernel  of 
my  philosophy.     The  more  poetic  the  truer." 

"  Every  Englishman  is  an  island." 

"  There  is  a  possibility  of  an  infinite  delight  iu 
pain." 

"  Whatever  I  will  do,  that  I  can  do.  With  man 
nothing  is  impossible." 

"  Pain  should  properly  be  the  normal  state,  and 
joy  should  be  what  now  sorrow  and  pain  are." 

"  Religion  cannot  be  preached  except  as  love  and 
patriotism." 

"  The  republic  is  the  Jiuidxim  deferens  of  youth. 
Wherever  there  are  young  people,  there  is  a  re- 
public. By  man-iage  the  system  changes.  Tho 
married  man  demands  ordei',  security,  and  rest ;  he 
seeks  the  genuine  monarchy." 


3l6  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

"  Death  is  the  Komantic  principle  of  life.  Death 
is  life.     Through  death  life  is  intensified." 

"  The  epigram  is  the  central  monad  of  old  French 
literature  and  culture." 

"  Coals  and  diamonds  are  one  and  the  same  sub- 
stance. And  still  how  different !  Is  there  not  just 
the  same  difference  between  man  and  woman  ?  We 
are  the  Ijomely  charcoal ;  the  women  are  opals  and 
sapphires,  which  likewise  are  nothing  but  coals." 

"A  marriage  is  a  political  epigram.  An  epigram 
is  only  an  elementary  poetic  expression — a  poetic 
element — a  primitive  poem." 

"  Love  is  the  end  and  goal  of  universal  history — 
the  amen  of  the  universe." 

"  Klopstock's  works  give  the  impression  of  being 
free  translations  of  some  unknown  poet  by  a  very 
talented  but  unpoetical  philologist." 

"  Very  properly  do  many  women  speak  of  sinking 
into  the  arms  of  their  husbands.  Happy  she  who 
can  rise  into  the  embrace  of  her  lover." 

"  Can  an  ego  suppose  itself  an  ego  without  another 
ego  or  non-ego  ?  " 

"  Love  is  the  highest  reality,  and  the  first  cause. 
All  romances  which  deal  with  true  love  are  fairy 
tales,  magic  narratives." 

"  To  become  a  man  is  an  art." 

We  learn  from  Tieck  that  these  fragments,  many 
of  which  were  written  only  for  the  author's  own 
amusement  and  without  a  view  to  publication,  are 
the  first  crude  beginnings  of  a  great  encyclopaedic 
work,  in  which  facts  and  speculations  drawn  fx-om 


NOVA  LIS  AND   THE  BLUE  FLOWER      317 

all  departments  of  human  knowledge  should  mu- 
tually explain  and  support  each  other.  It  is  safe  to 
assert,  however,  that  Novalis,  even  if  he  had  lived 
to  the  age  of  a  patriarch,  would  have  been  poorly 
equipped  for  such  an  undertaking. 

Without  an  acquaintance  with  the  leading  philo- 
sophical systems  of  Germany,  and  especially  that  of 
Fichte,  the  greater  part  of  Novalis's  prose  writings 
will  appear  obscure  and  unintelligible.  And  their 
obscurity  does  not  always,  as  Carlyle  would  have  us 
believe,  prove  that  the  thought  which  is  struggling 
for  utterance  is  too  profound  to  be  embodied  in  the 
common  vernacular  of  cultivated  men,  but  is  as  fre- 
quently the  result  of  a  confusion  of  ideas  in  the  au- 
thor's mind.  It  is  truly  to  be  regretted  that  a  man 
in  whom  there  dwelt  so  rich  a  fountain  of  song 
should  have  spent  so  great  a  portion  of  his  life  in 
unprofitable  investigations  regarding  "  the  internal 
plural,"  or  the  relation  of  mathematics  to  the  emo- 
tional life  of  man.  It  may  be  that  occasionally  he 
caught  glimpses  of  truths  too  high  for  the  compre- 
hension of  men  of  coaraer  fibre,  but  it  is  as  cer- 
tain that  his  speculations  often  lost  themselves  in 
vague  abstractions  and  pedantic  sophistries.  As  a 
curiosity  we  quote  in  the  original  the  following 
untranslatable  passage,  which,  if  it  means  anything, 
certainly  does  not  bear  its  meaning  on  the  sur- 
face : 

"  Wir  sind  gar  nicht  Ich,  wir  konnen  und  soUen 
aber  Ich  werden,  wir  sind  Keime  zum  Ich-Werden. 
Wir  sollen  Alles  in  ein  Du,  in  ein  zweites  Ich  ver- 


3l8  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

wandeln  ;  nur  dadurch  erheben  wir  tins  zum  groszen 
Ich  das  Eins  und  Alles  zugleich  ist." 

We  comprehend  that  these  utterances,  although 
clothed  in  the  phraseology  of  Fichte,  have  been  sug- 
gested by,  or  at  least  have  something  to  do  with, 
Spinoza's  doctrine  of  the  mere  relative  existence  of 
all  finite  things  when  compared  to  the  one  "  abso- 
lute existence,"  God.  No  doubt  Novalis  was  an  in- 
genious dilettante  in  philosophy,  and  perhaps  divined 
a  profounder  meaning  in  the  systems  of  his  day  than 
even  the  founders  themselves  ;  but  the  world  has 
outgrown  many  an  elaborate  philosophic  structure 
in  this  century,  and  will  doubtless  outgrow  many 
more.  But  of  its  true  poets  mankind  can  afford  to 
forget  none ;  and  when  the  philosopher  Novalis 
shall  long  have  been  forgotten,  the  poet  Novalis  may 
yet  survive. 

If  we  had  been  writing  a  romantic  fiction,  instead 
of  a  biographical  sketch,  we  could  never  have  in- 
vented a  series  of  more  pathetic  events  than  those 
which  mark  the  closing  years  of  this  author's  life.  He 
had  coquetted  so  long  with  death,  that  death  at  last 
took  the  matter  in  earnest,  placed  its  hand  upon  his 
shoulder,  and  bade  him  keep  himself  in  readiness 
for  the  final  summons.  But  never  had  this  earth 
appeared  more  beautiful  to  the  poet  than  just  then  ; 
never  had  the  quickening  tide  of  life  pulsated  more 
vigorously  through  his  veins,  never  had  the  future 
dawned  upon  him  with  such  golden  promise.  He 
loved  again,  and  this  time  not  a  child,  but  a  charm- 
ing maiden  in  the  first  flower  of  her  womanhood, 


NOVALIS  AND   THE  BLUE  FLOWER      319 

who  in  return  had  bestowed  upon  him  all  the  affec- 
tion of  her  heart.  Moreover,  he  had  been  appointed 
assessor  of  the  Thuringian  mines,  and  rejoiced  in 
the  prospect  of  a  useful  activity  in  his  chosen  field 
of  labor.  His  literary  fame  was  spreading,  and 
that  first  recognition  which  is  so  dear  to  a  young 
author's  heart  had  come  to  him  from  a  source  which 
made  it  tenfold  sweet  and  delightful.  The  poet 
Tieck,  whose  popular  tales  ( Vol/csmdrchen)  he  had 
long  ardently  admired,  sought  him  at  this  time,  and 
their  very  first  meeting  laid  the  foundation  of  a 
warm  friendship,  which  during  the  few  years  they 
were  allowed  to  remain  together  shed  a  softly 
brightening  lustre  over  the  lives  of  both.  "My  ac- 
quaintance with  you,"  writes  Novalis,  "  opens  a 
new  chapter  in  my  life.  .  .  .  No  one  has  ever 
appealed  to  me  so  gently  and  still  so  universally  as 
you.  Every  word  from  you  I  understand  perfectly. 
In  no  point  do  I  meet  you  only  from  afar.  Nothing 
human  is  foreign  to  you  ;  you  take  an  interest  in 
everything,  and  j^our  spirit  diffuses  itself  like  a  per- 
fume over  all  objects,  and  still  lingers  most  lovingly 
with  the  flowers." 

It  was,  no  doubt,  the  association  with  Tieck  which 
counteracted  Schlegel's  influence,  and  induced  No- 
valis to  relinquish  his  philosophical  speculations  and 
henceforth  devote  himself  exclusively  to  poetry.  In 
the  meanwhile  his  illness,  which  he  had  so  often 
apostrophized  in  prose  and  verse,  was  gradually 
undermining  his  strength,  but  the  nearer  the  end 
approached,   the  more  tenaciously  he  clung  to  this 


320  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

life,  which  had  once  appeared  but  a  heavy  burden 
and  au  endless  sorrow.  His  aesthetic  convictions 
also  underwent  radical  changes.  The  sensuous  equi- 
librium, the  sunny  realism  which  once  had  attracted 
him  in  Goethe,  now  disgusted  and  repelled  him. 
The  shimmering  moonshine,  the  forest  solitude,  the 
wonder-blossoms,  and  all  the  magic  machinery  of 
Tieck  seemed  to  embody  the  essence  of  poetic  art, 
and  the  nebulous  mysticism  in  the  theosophic  med- 
itations of  Jacob  Buhme  completely  won  his  heart. 
"  Wilhelm  Meister,  "  his  former  ideal  of  a  romance,  he 
finds  "  altogether  prosaic  and  modern."  It  is  merely 
a  domestic  tale,  which,  where  it  does  not  ignore  the 
wonderful,  treats  it  as  the  enthusiastic  extravagance 
of  youth.  Artistic  atheism,  he  thinks,  is  the  spirit 
of  the  book.  In  order  to  enter  his  protest  against 
these  pernicious  teachings  he  determines  to  write  a 
romance  which  shall  express  the  very  opposite  senti- 
ments. A  theme  well  adapted  to  embody  his  own 
poetic  creed  he  had  discovered  some  time  before  in 
the  history  of  the  minnesinger  Heinrich  von  Of- 
terdingen.  He  communicated  his  plan  to  Tieck, 
whose  sympathetic  interest  stimulated  his  mind  to 
increased  activity,  in  spite  of  the  growing  weakness 
of  his  body.  In  his  predilection  for  the  Middle  Ages 
Tieck  had  himself  been  Novalis's  predecessor,  and 
to  him  belongs,  next  to  Goethe,  the  honor  of  having 
directed  a  nation,  whose  literature  had  long  fed  on 
foreign  spoils,  to  its  own  historic  past  as  a  source 
of  poetic  inspiration.  Mediaeval  life,  with  its  sharp 
distinctions  of  caste,  and,  moreover,  lacking  many  of 


NOVA  LIS  AND  THE  BLUE   FLOWER     321 

tlie  levelling  and  equalizing  agencies  of  our  own 
age,  offered  largei*  types  of  men,  a  bolder  grouping 
of  scenes,  and  a  wider  scope  to  a  picturesque  fancj'. 
That  childlike  trust  in  a  Divine  Father,  that  sublime 
disregard  of  the  world  with  all  its  allurements,  that 
strong  religious  fervor  which  stirred  with  one  grand 
impulse  the  hearts  of  the  mightiest  king  and  the 
lowliest  beggar,  and  drove  great  nations  away  from 
their  hearths  to  perish  in  the  unknown  deserts  of 
the  Orient — traits  like  these,  with  all  the  imposing 
historic  drama  which  they  brought  into  action,  will 
always  have  the  power  to  set  the  poet's  pulses  throb- 
bing. It  had  been  the  custom  during  the  period  of 
the  Enlightenment,  as  it  is  largely  at  the  present 
day,  to  sneer  at  the  religious  rapture  of  the  Crusades 
and  call  it  morbid,  theatrical,  etc. ;  to  scoff  at  the 
ndme  directness  of  mediaeval  art,  and  to  regard  the 
few  monuments  of  Old  German  literature  which 
time  has  spared  as  the  rude  stammerings  of  a  bar- 
barous age.  The  mistake  which  every  century  has 
made,  that  of  judging  its  predecessors  by  its  own 
standard,  was  at  that  time  the  more  to  be  regretted, 
because  undoubtedly  it  occasioned  the  final  loss 
of  many  valuable  manuscripts  which  perhaps  a 
little  antiquarian  skill  or  curiosity  miglit  have  pre- 
served. The  opinion  of  Frederick  the  Great  con- 
cerning the  "  Niebelungenlied,"  that  it  was  not  worth 
a  pinch  of  snuff,  and  that  he  would  not  tolerate  such 
stuff  in  his  library,  is  well  known  ;  but  that  the 
king,  both  in  his  ignorance  and  in  his  ill-nature, 
fairly   represented  the  attitude  of  his  time  toward 


322  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

the  Middle  Ages  ought  by  no  means  to  be  regarded 
as  a  daring  assertion.  Not  long  ago  M.  Taine  ex- 
emplified the  same  tendency  in  his  brilliant  lectures 
ou  "The  Philosophy  of  Art,"  and  the  reader  hardly 
knows  which  ought  to  surprise  him  the  more,  the 
total  inability  of  the  Gaul  to  comprehend  the  Gothic 
charactei',  or  the  complacent  arrogance  with  which 
the  nineteenth  century  behaves  toward  its  less  en- 
lightened precursors. 

The  Romantic  poets,  with  Tieck  and  Novalis  in 
their  van,  erred  on  the  very  opposite  side.  Guided 
not  by  the  light  of  reason,  but  by  a  dim  poetic  in- 
stinct, they  groped  their  way  in  the  twilight  through 
the  "  corridors  of  time,"  and,  rummaging  about 
in  the  lumber-rooms  of  the  past,  they  discovered, 
among  much  that  was  of  value,  a  good  deal  of  rub- 
bish which  might  as  well  have  remained  in  obscur- 
ity. They  admired  not  only  the  picturesque  pomp 
and  splendor  of  feudalism,  but  also  its  system  of 
caste,  its  club  law,  and  its  oppression  of  the  lower 
classes  ;  not  only  the  primitive  simplicity  of  faith 
and  the  intensity  of  emotional  life  in  the  early  Cath- 
olic Church,  but  also  its  intolerance,  its  hostility  to 
liberty,  and  its  idolatrous  Madonna  worship.  The 
paradisiacal  state  of  the  world,  according  to  them, 
lay  in  the  past ;  since  the  Crusades  mankind  had 
been  steadily  degenerating.  They  accordingly  de- 
manded of  their  own  nation  a  return  to  this  ideal 
state,  and  upbraided  it  because  it  could  no  more  feel 
and  think  and  believe  as  it  had  done  in  its  child- 
hood.    As  Heine   says,    they   resembled   the   aged 


NOVALIS  AND  THE  BLUE  FLOWER     323 

chambermaid  in  the  fairy  tale,  who,  having  discov- 
ered that  her  mistress  renewed  her  youth  by  means 
of  an  ehxir,  put  the  flagon  to  her  mouth  and  emp- 
tied the  whole  contents.  She  not  only  regained  her 
youth,  but  became  an  infant  in  the  cradle.  If  the 
Eulighteners  had  erred  in  despising  their  medi- 
ffival  ancestors  because,  judged  by  the  standard  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  they  were  rude  and  igno- 
rant, the  Romanticists  committed  a  no  less  griev- 
ous error  in  measuring  their  contemporaries  by  the 
long  disused  standards  of  the  past. 

Novalis's  romance,  "Heinrich  von  Ofterdingen," 
being  a  true  product  of  the  Romantic  soil,  shares  the 
extravagances  and  imperfections  which  characterize 
Tieck's  early  works,  and  indeed  all  works  of  a  similar 
nature  within  the  school.  It  teems  with  sub-plots  and 
allegories  within  allegoriea,  and  at  times,  it  must  be 
confessed,  tasks  the  reader's  patience  to  the  utmost ; 
for  the  very  moment  he  imagines  that  he  has  caught 
hold  of  a  tangible  thread  and  is  determined  to  keep 
it,  it  somehow  slips  out  of  his  fingers,  and  he  is 
again  lost  in  a  dimly  lighted  labyrinth,  filled,  it  is 
true,  with  many  beautiful  things,  but  leading  no- 
where, without  end  and  without  beginning.  As  has 
already  been  remarked,  the  book  was  Avritten  as  a 
protest  against  "  Wilhelm  Meister,"  and  as  the  latter, 
according  to  Novalis,  was  a  glorification  of  the  prose 
of  life,  so  "  Heinrich  von  Ofterdingen "  should  be 
an  apotheosis  of  its  poetry.  But  poetry  the  Roman- 
ticists conceived  to  be  of  a  vague,  ethereal,  and  im- 
palpable essence,  which  impressed  the  sense  not 


324  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

through  the  grosser  faculty  of  understanding,  but 
according  to  some  mysterious  law  appealing  directly 
to  the  deepest  emotions  of  the  heart.  This  theory, 
which  the  author  shared  with  Schlegel  and  Tieck, 
is  no  doubt  largely  responsible  for  the  confusion 
which  reigns  in  his  tale.  Singular  enough,  and  ap- 
parently conflicting  with  the  above  theory,  is  the 
fact  that  the  lyrical  poems  which  are  found  scattered 
through  the  story  are  by  far  the  clearest  and  most 
intelligible  part  of  it ;  but  Novalis  was  primarily  a 
lyric  poet,  and  nature  will  not  fail  to  assert  itself  in 
spite  of  all  theories. 

To  unravel  the  many  allegorical  complications  of 
the  plot  is  no  easy  task.  Novalis  has,  however,  given 
us  a  clew.  In  the  first  part,  he  says,  the  hero  is  ma- 
tured as  a  poet,  and  in  the  second  (which  was  left 
incomplete  at  the  author's  death)  he  is  glorified  as  a 
poet.  In  the  very  first  chapter  we  meet  Avith  all  the 
conventional  machinery  of  Romantic  fiction  :  night, 
moonlight,  dreams,  and  the  longing  for  the  blue 
flower.  This  blue  flower  is  the  watchword  and  the 
sacred  symbol  of  the  school.  It  is  meant  to  symbol- 
ize the  deep  and  nameless  longings  of  a  poet's  soul. 
Romantic  poetry  invariably  deals  with  longing  ;  not 
a  definite,  formulated  desire  for  some  attainable  ob- 
ject, but  a  dim,  mysterious  aspiration,  a  trembling 
unrest,  a  vague  sense  of  kinship  with  the  infinite, 
and  a  consequent  dissatisfaction  with  every  form  of 
happiness  which  the  world  has  to  offer.  The  object 
of  the  Romantic  longing,  therefore,  so  far  as  it  has 
any  object,  is  the  ideal — the  ideal  of  happiness,  the 


NOVALIS  AND  THE  BLUE  FLOWER     325 

ideal  of  womanhood,  the  ideal  of  social  perfec- 
tion, etc.  The  blue  flower,  like  the  absolute  ideal, 
is  never  found  in  this  world ;  poets  may  at  times 
dimly  feel  its  nearness,  and  perhaps  even  catch  a 
brief  glimpse  of  it  in  some  lonely  forest  glade,  far 
from  the  haunts  of  men,  but  it  is  vain  to  try  to 
pluck  it.  If  for  a  moment  its  perfume  fills  the  air, 
the  senses  are  intoxicated,  and  the  soul  swells  with 
poetic  rapture. 

In  "Heinrichvon  Ofterdingen  "  the  presence  of 
this  wondrous  flower  is  felt  on  every  page,  and  quite 
unawarfes  one  may  catch  a  glimpse  of  its  fragile 
chalice.  "I  long  to  see  the  blue  flower,"  are  the 
very  first  words  which  the  hero  utters  ;  "  it  is  con- 
tinually in  my  mind,  and  I  can  think  of  nothing 
else."  He  falls  asleep  and  has  a  strange  dream, 
also  of  the  blue  flower,  the  significance  of  which  is 
heightened  by  the  fact  that  his  father  had  dreamed 
something  similar  as  he  was  about  to  take  the  most 
important  step  of  his  life.  Heinrich  starts  with  his 
mother  and  a  company  of  merchants  for  Augsburg, 
where  he  is  to  visit  his  maternal  grandfather.  Every 
new  object  which  meets  his  eye  fills  him  with  won- 
der. The  conversation  of  his  companions,  in  which 
he  himself  eagerly  participates,  is  intended  to  en- 
large his  views  of  life  and  mature  him  for  his  future 
calling.  It  strikes  one,  however,  as  singular  that 
mediaeval  merchants  should  be  constantly  talking 
about  art  and  poetry,  and  it  seems  as  if  the  author 
had  wilfully  violated  reality  when,  for  instance,  he 
makes   them  speak  in  chorus.      Historical  truth 


326  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

and  local  coloring  are  of  course  out  of  the  ques- 
tion. The  miner,  the  hermit,  Zulma,  Klingsohr, 
etc.,  are  all  bloodless  and  sexless  abstractions,  and 
are  probably  intended  by  the  author  as  poetic  per- 
sonifications of  certain  forces  of  nature  or  of  his- 
tory. Zulma  is  the  spirit  of  the  Orient,  the  miner 
represents  the  poetry  of  nature,  the  hermit  that  of 
history,  and  in  Klingsohr  we  meet  the  embodi- 
ment of  the  ideal,  fully  developed  poet.  In  spite  of 
his  professed  dislike  of  "  Wilhelm  Meister,"  Novalis 
has,  perhaps  unconsciously,  echoed  Goethe's  senti- 
ments in  the  aesthetic  discourses  of  this  ideal  poet. 
The  spiritual  supremacy  of  "  the  great  Pagan " 
makes  itself  felt  even  in  a  work  whose  purpose  it 
was  to  protest  against  it.  At  the  sight  of  Kling- 
sohr's  daughter,  Mathilde,  Heinrich  has  the  same 
sensation  as  he  had  had  in  the  dream  when  he  saw 
the  blue  flower.  He  loves  her,  and  his  love  is  re- 
turned ;  but  at  the  very  moment  when  the  mysteri- 
ous flower  seems  to  be  within  the  reach  of  his  hand, 
it  is  lost  to  him.  Mathilde  is  drowned  in  the  river 
— an  event  which  Heinrich  had  anticipated  in  his 
dreams  ;  and  stunned  with  grief  and  despairing  of 
his  own  future,  he  leaves  Augsburg  to  seek  the  im- 
perial court.  And  now  the  author  unfolds  his 
transcendental  wings  and  henceforth  disdains  to 
presei've  even  the  semblance  of  probability.  The 
hero  hears  voices  of  song  coming  apparently  from  a 
tree  growing  at  the  road-side.  He  recognizes  the 
voice  of  Mathilde,  who  promises  to  send  him  an- 
other maiden,  Cyane,  to  comfort  him.     Then  he  has 


NOVA  LIS  AND  THE  BLUE  FLOWER      327 

a  strange  allegorical  vision,  and  the  mysterious 
maiden  suddenly  stands  before  him,  and  imme- 
diately gains  his  love.  Whether  this  Cyane  really 
is  Mathilde,  or  only  a  phantom  representing  her,  or 
an  altogether  independent  individuality,  is  a  point 
which  we  are  unable  to  settle.  There  are  passages 
in  the  story  which  seem  to  prove  that  each  of  these 
assumptions  is  equally  probable.  In  a  cave,  called 
the  Cave  of  the  Count  of  Hohenzollera,  Heinrich 
sees  wonderful  signs  and  symbols  which  are  sup- 
posed to  hide  the  secrets  of  his  fate,  and  in  a  mon- 
astery, the  inhabitants  of  which  are  not  living  men, 
but  spirits  whose  vocation  it  is  "to  preserve  the 
sacred  fire  in  young  minds,"  he  receives  instruction 
concerning  the  mysteries  of  life  and  death.  The 
rest  of  the  tale  is  only  lightly  sketched  and  abounds 
in  mysteries,  allegories,  and  metamorphoses,  com- 
pared with  which  Sindbad  the  Sailor  or  The  Forty 
Thieves  appear  as  reasonable  as  an  algebraic  prob- 
lem. Heinrich  plucks  the  blue  flowei".  and  in  the 
end  is  united  with  Mathilde.  The  boundary  be- 
tween this  world  and  the  world  to  come  vanishes ; 
time,  space,  logic,  all  disappear  under  the  magic 
wand  of  the  poet;  all  are  but  relative  existences 
which  are  absorbed  in  the  one  absolute  existence — 
poetry. 

Considered  as  a  story  this  romance  of  Novalis 
may  have  very  little  importance,  but  regarded  as  a 
phenomenon  in  literature,  containing  the  germs  of 
various  tendencies  of  a  school  which  during  the 
present  century  has  spread  throughout  Europe,  it 


328  GERMAN'  LITERATURE 

is  well  ■worthy  of  the  attention  we  have  given  it. 
That  "Heiniich  von  Ofterdingen,"  in  spite  of  its 
mystic  coloring  and  its  visionary  extravagances,  is 
largely  autobiographical,  is  easily  seen  ;  the  charac- 
ter of  the  hero,  being  so  nearly  identical  with  that 
of  the  author  himself,  the  death  of  his  first  beloved, 
the  vision  at  the  road-side,  the  vague,  restless  long- 
ing for  the  blue  flower,  the  second  betrothal,  etc., 
belong  as  much  to  the  history  of  the  modern  poet 
Novalis  as  to  that  of  the  mediaeval  hero  of  the  ro- 
mance. The  poets  of  the  eighteenth  century,  having 
seldom  any  practical  aim  to  distract  them  from  the 
contemplation  of  their  own  inner  life,  have  more 
frequently  than  the  poets  of  other  ages  apotheosized 
themselves  in  the  persons  of  their  heroes.  The 
contempt  of  life  and  the  disgust  with  the  world 
( Weltschmerz,  as  the  Germans  call  it)  which  directly 
result  from  morbid  self-analyses  are  not  yet  devel- 
oped in  Novalis.  On  the  contrary,  he  studies  nature 
with  real  affection,  and  takes  a  sincere  interest  in 
his  fellow-men.  But  as  a  Romantic  poet  he  is  an 
absolute  sovereign  who  brooks  no  Jaw  above  him, 
and  the  laws  of  reality  have  no  validity  to  him  ex- 
cept as  symbols  of  a  higher  order  of  creation  which 
the  poet,  in  moments  of  inspiration,  may  behold. 

This  exaltation  of  the  poet  above  the  rest  of  his 
kind,  this  assumption  of  the  office  of  a  prophet, 
priest,  and  inspired  seer,  and  the  kindred  claims  to 
exemption  from  the  rules  of  morals  which  govern 
ordinary  men,  are  dominant  features  of  the  Roman- 
tic School. 


NOVALIS  AND   THE  BLUE  FLOWER      329 

The  religious  mysticism  and  the  consequent  pre- 
dilection for  the  Catholic  Church  which  so  strikingly 
characterized  the  later  phases  of  Romantic  develop- 
ment received  its  first  impulse  from  Tieck's  friend, 
Wackenroder,  but  was  hardly  recognized  as  a  dis- 
tinct feature  of  the  school  until  the  days  of  Novalis. 
With  Wackenroder  the  interest  had  been  chiefly  an 
artistic  one  ;  with  Novalis  it  sprang  from  a  real, 
deeply  felt  want  of  the  heart.  His  fervid  spirit  de- 
manded a  warmer,  intenser,  and  more  picturesque 
faith  than  the  rationalistic  Lutheranism  of  his  times 
afforded.  The  reading  of  Schleiermacher's  famous 
"Orations  on  Religion  "  awakened  in  him  a  desire  to 
serve  the  same  good  cause  ;  he  accordingly  wrote  an 
essay  on  "  Europe  and  Christianity,"  which  he  read 
in  manuscript  to  an  enthusiastic  circle  of  friends  in 
Jena.  Tieck  and  Friedrich  Schlegel  were  delighted, 
but  Dorothea  had  her  misgivings  as  to  its  merits. 
"  Christianity  is  h  Vordre  du  jour  here,"  she  writes. 
"  The  gentlemen  are  a  little  cracked  ;  Tieck  carries 
religion  to  the  same  length  as  Schiller  does  fate." 

In  fact  this  attempt  of  Novalis  to  glorify  the  "  only 
saving  Church  "  is  one  of  the  most  paradoxical  doc- 
uments which  the  Romantic  literature  has  to  show. 
It  was  accepted  by  Schlegel  for  The  Athenaeum,  but 
Goethe,  from  a  sincere  friendship  for  the  author, 
prevented  its  publication.  It  was  not  until  several 
years  after  Novalis's  death  that  it  was  given  to  the 
public.  The  essay  represents  the  Reformation  as  an 
unqualified  evil,  because  it  destroyed  the  unity  of 
the  Church  ;  it  also  justifies  the  Madonna  worship 


330  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

by  the  conscious  craving  in  every  human  heart  for  a 
female  ideal  of  Divinity,  a  theme  which  receives 
frequent  attention  in  the  "  Spiritual  Songs  "  and  the 
"Fragments."  The  homage,  however,  which  he  pays 
"  the  divine  Virgin  and  Mother "  seems  to  be  the 
adoration  of  a  lover  rather  than  that  of  a  religious 
votary. 

**Ich  selie  dicli  in  tausend  Bildern 
Maria,  lieblich  ausgedriickt, 
Doch  keins  von  alien  kann  dicli  schildern 
Wie  meiue  Seele  dich  erblickt. 
Icli  weisz  nur  dasz  der  Welt  Getiimmel 
Seitdem  mir  wie  ein  Traum  verweht 
Und  ein  unnennbar  siiszer  Himm&l 
Mir  ewig  im  Gemuthe  steht.'* 

Among  the  works  of  Novalis  there  still  remains  a 
fragment  of  a  romance,  entitled  "  The  Disciples  at 
Sais."  It  was  written  before  "  Heinrich  von  Ofter- 
dingen,"  Avith  which  it  has  much  in  common,  being  a 
most  curious  medley  of  theosophic,  metaphysical, 
and  scientfic  reveries. 

Novalis  never  lost  his  faith  in  life  ;  even  when  the 
physicians  had  given  him  up,  and  death  stared  him 
in  the  face,  he  continued  to  busy  himself  with  ambi- 
tious literary  projects.  He  ate  nothing  but  vegeta- 
bles, which,  according  to  Tieck,  agreed  well  with 
him.  His  early  love  of  metaphysics  had  now  alto- 
gether deserted  him.  "  Philosophy,"'  he  writes, 
**  now  rests  on  my  book-shelves.  I  am  glad  that  I 
am  done  with  this  arctic  region  of  pure  reason." 


NOVALIS  AND   THE  BLUE  FLOWER      331 

He  died  March  25,  1801,  in  the  twenty-ninth  year 
of  his  age.  If  we  judge  his  writings  by  their  bulk 
and  their  paradoxical  character,  the  fame  which 
he  enjoys  even  at  this  day  might  seem  inexplicable  ; 
but  looking  more  closely  at  these  disjecta  membra 
poelcB  we  find  that  they  possess  a  potent  charm  and 
even  a  kind  of  unity  of  their  own.  They  reveal  a 
quaint,  lovable,  and  eminently  poetic  personality,  and 
watching  their  chronological  succession  we  may  read 
an  interesting  record  of  psychological  evolution.  His 
eai'ly  death  shed  a  romantic  halo  over  the  incidents 
of  his  life,  which  were  in  themselves  sufficiently 
pathetic ;  his  works  became  a  sacred  legacy  to  his 
friends,  and  their  author  the  patron  saint  of  German 
Romanticism. 


XIII. 

LITERARY    ASPECTS    OF    THE    RO- 
MANTIC   SCHOOL 


LTJDWIG  TIECK  was  born  in  Berlin  in  the 
year  1773,  and  his  boyhood  and  youth  conse- 
quently fell  at  a  time  when  the  Aufklarung  was  in  its 
fullest  bloom.  His  father  was  strongly  influenced 
by  the  barren  philosophy  of  the  worthy  Nicolai,  and 
the  school  in  which  young  Tieck  received  his  early 
education  was  a  very  hot-bed  of  utilitarian  enlight- 
enment. But  almost  simultaneously  the  first  pro- 
ductions of  the  Storm  and  Stress  period  began  to 
attract  attention.  The  translations  of  Shakespeare, 
Goethe's  "  Gotz,"  and  Schiller's  "  Bobbers "  had 
called  into  being  a  dramatic  literature,  the  chief 
characteristic  of  which  was  strength,  that  is,  primi- 
tively direct  expressions  of  passion,  unrefined  by 
taste,  culture,  or  even  common  decency.  It  was  the 
old  protest  against  the  artificial  order  of  society  to 
which  Bousseau  had  given  so  powerful  an  utterance 
in  "Le  Contrat  Social"  and  "La  Nouvelle  Heloise," 
and  before  him,  in  a  somewhat  gentler  form,  Ber- 
nardin  de  St.  Pierre,  in  his  "Paul  and  Virginia." 
But  to  the  Teutons  this  protest  was  yet  comparative- 


ASPECTS   OF  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL      333 

ly  new,  and  men  like  Klinger,  Lenz,  and  the  painter 
Mtiller  continued  in  the  last  decades  of  the  eigh- 
teenth century  to  repeat  the  world-old  declamations 
about  nature,  deeming  their  approach  to  nature 
always  in  direct  proportion  to  their  removal  from  ac- 
cepted propriety.  The  boldly  unconventional  char- 
acter of  these  declamations  may  be  fairly  judged  by 
the  notorious  remark  of  the  second  trooper  in  the 
third  act  of  "  Gotz  von  Berlichingen." 

A  youth  so  sensitive  as  Tieck  could  not  escape  re- 
ceiving a  reflex  tinge  from  a  school  so  aggressive, 
and  moreover  so  positive  in  its  color,  as  the  Storm 
and  Stress ;  and  his  youthful  dramas,  "  The  Part- 
ing "  and  "  Karl  von  Berneck,"  rival  in  noisy  decla- 
mation and  violence  the  works  of  the  professed  ad- 
herents of  the  schooL 

There  is,  in  spite  of  beauties  of  detail,  a  horribly 
damp  and  sultry  atmosphere  pervading  these  effu- 
sions of  Tieck's  youthful  muse ;  he  revels  in  blood 
and  atrocities  of  every  description,  and  the  whole 
imaginary  scene  hangs  heavy  as  a  nightmare  upon 
the  reader's  vision,  attracting  him  by  an  uncomfort- 
able fascination,  and  compelling  him  to  gaze  at  the 
ghastly  spectacle  to  the  bitter  end  ;  and  the  end  is 
universally  tragic.  In  "  The  Parting,"  for  instance, 
there  is  hardly  a  single  survivor.  The  dramatis  per- 
sonce  have  apparently  no  power  of  self-determina- 
tion ;  they  are  the  tools  of  certain  mysterious  pow- 
ers outside  and  above  them  ;  they  go  about  as  in  a 
trance,  murdering  those  who  are  dearest  to  them, 
and  from  beginning  to  end  acting  and  talking  in  the 


334  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

most  irresponsible  fashion.  The  fatalism  of  Greek 
tragedy,  although  entailing  sorrow  and  suffering 
upon  the  innocent,  was  a  clear,  rational,  and  almost 
cheerful  affair  compared  to  the  groping  horror  of 
these  dark  and  unaccountable  deeds. 

A  short  drama,  "  Almansur,"  full  of  fatalistic  phi- 
losophy and  strongly  tinctured  with  Rousseau,  and 
a  long  Oriental  tale,  "  Abdallah,"  are  monuments  of 
pi-ecocity  and  industry,  rather  than  of  genius. 

The  work  which  first  brought  Tieck  into  public 
notice  was  "William  Lovell,"a  two-volume  romance, 
suggested  by  the  "  Paysan  Perverti  "  of  Retif  de  la 
Bretouue.  The  ostensible  purpose  of  this  book  is  to 
trace  the  downward  career  of  a  sensitive,  passionate, 
and  uncorrupted  j-outh.  The  author  was  then  only 
twenty-two  years  old,  and  happily  had  not  yet  pierced 
to  those  deepest  deptlis  of  human  misery  and  sin 
which  he  is  here  pretending  to  sound.  The  de- 
scriptions have  the  vividness  and  oppressiveness  of 
a  fever  vision.  They  are  full  of  vehement  rhetoric, 
which  is  a  poor  substitute  for  passion,  and  where 
the  genuine  vital  force  is  lacking  you  cannot  make 
up  for  its  loss,  as  Tieck  has  attempted  to  do,  by  an 
excess  of  analysis.  In  "William  Lovell"  we  are 
rather  astounded  and  bewildered  than  really  inter- 
ested. The  hero  becomes  at  last  too  vile  to  deserve 
any  sympathy,  and  moreover  we  have  a  haunting 
sense  of  the  unreality  of  his  crimes  as  well  as  his 
Bufferings,  and  wait  with  calm  resignation  for  the 
moment  when  we  as  well  as  he  shall  wake  up  to 
find  that  all  these  horrors  were  merely  the  vanish- 


ASPECTS   OF  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL      335 

ing  phantasms  of  a  dream.  Thus  in  spite  of  all  the 
ingenuity  which  the  author  has  expended  upon  the 
outfit  of  his  hei'o,  the  reader  can  hardly  suppress  a 
sigh  of  relief,  when  finally  he  has  left  Lovell  dead 
on  the  Roman  Campagna,  where  at  last  he  reaps  the 
fruit  of  his  numerous  misdoings. 

After  having  spent  a  few  years  at  the  universities 
of  Halle  and  Gottingen,  where  he  had  devoted  him- 
self with  enthusiastic  zeal  to  the  study  of  Shake- 
speare and  the  older  English  dramatists,  Tieck  re- 
turned, in  1794,  to  Berlin,  rented  a  summer-house 
outside  of  the  gates,  and  soon  gathered  about  him  a 
congenial  circle  of  admirers  and  friends.  Among 
these  the  gentle  and  lovable  Wackenroder  has  left  a 
brief  and  pathetic  record  behind  him.  From  their 
earliest  school-days  Tieck  and  he  had  felt  drawn 
toward  each  other,  and  while  the  former  rapidly  de- 
veloped the  resources  of  his  mind,  the  lattei*, 
checked  in  his  progress  by  the  blight  of  a  deadly 
disease,  clung  with  a  touching,  almost  maidenly, 
devotion  to  his  stronger  friend,  entering  with  ar- 
dent faith  and  sympathy  into  all  his  hopes  of  lit- 
erary greatness. 

In  the  meanwhile  the  ancient  Nicolai,  ever  active 
and  full  of  enterprise  for  the  advancement  of  his 
utilitarian  cause,  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  "  Wil- 
liam Lovell's  "  author,  and  had,  with  a  view  to  mutual 
benefit,  proposed  to  him  a  kind  of  literary  copart- 
nership ;  and  Tieck,  with  whom  the  need  of  a  mai'- 
ket  for  his  productions  was  imperative,  had  con- 
sented to  overlook  the  divergence  of  their  views  and 


336  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

to  grind  off  at  a  fixed  rate  "  enlightened  "  and  in- 
structive tales  for  the  edification  of  the  bellelettris- 
tic  public  of  the  capital.  It  was  indeed  a  novel  po- 
sition for  the  future  chief  of  Romanticism  to  find 
himself  thus  in  the  hive  of  the  very  party  against 
Avhich  he  was  soon  to  direct  the  arrows  of  his  criti- 
cism. But  Tieck,  conscious  only  of  his  inward 
wealth,  and  as  yet  unhampered  by  any  fixed  theories 
of  art,  was  well  content  to  yield  to  the  momentary 
joy  of  creating,  heedless  as  to  the  name  of  the  cause 
which  he  indirectly  served.  Nicolai  had  for  sevei*al 
years  past  been  publishing  a  kind  of  treasury  of 
novels,  entitled  Ostrich  Feathers  (Strauszfedern), 
mostly  free  adaptations  of  second-rate  French  sto- 
ries, which  with  a  slight  admixture  of  moralizing 
and  "  enlightened  sentiment "  had  found  favor  with 
the  constituents  of  circulating  libraries.  Tieck  was 
now  intrusted  with  the  continuation  of  this  enter- 
prise, and  in  his  fix'st  efforts  even  exceeded  the  ex- 
pectations of  his  employer.  But  soon  his  rebellious 
fancy  refused  to  submit  to  the  bondage  of  inferior 
spirits.  The  French  models  were  thrown  aside,  and 
one  original  tale  followed  another  with  amazing  ra- 
pidity. Nicolai  was  enchanted.  The  very  titles  of 
these  tales  show  how  well  the  fertile  scribbler  knew 
what  was  demanded  of  him  ;  here  we  have,  for  in- 
stance, "The  Sensitive  Ulrich,"  "The  Talented  Fer- 
mer,"  "  The  Friend  of  Nature,"  etc.  Presently, 
however,  some  playful  sprite  began  to  whisper 
mischievous  suggestions  into  Tieck's  ear  ;  it  would 
be  capital  sport  if  he  could  smuggle  in  his  own  sen- 


ASPECTS   OF  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL      337 

timents  in  a  sufl&ciently  deceptive  disguise,  and  thus 
beguile  the  old  Philistine  into  publishing  veiled  sat- 
ires and  ridicule  of  himself  and  all  his  rationalistic 
sophistry.  Nicolai  ran  into  the  snare,  but  at  length 
began  to  suspect  mischief,  and  the  unnatm-al  part- 
nership came  to  an  end.  It  seems,  however,  that 
the  "  enlightened  "  impetus  which  the  Romanticist 
had  received  from  his  publisher  must  have  cari'ied 
him  somewhat  beyond  his  original  intention  ;  for  in 
his  next  romance,  "  Peter  Lebrecht,"  he  still  occupies 
the  same  position  as  in  the  first  Ostrich  Feathers, 
turns  his  weapons  against  himself,  and  ridicules  the 
gratuitous  horrors  with  which  but  a  short  time  be- 
fore he  had  regaled  his  readers  in  "  William  Lovell  " 
and  "  Abdallah." 

After  all  these  youthful  vagaries  and  aimless  wan- 
derings between  the  various  literary  camps,  Tieck 
seems  at  last  to  have  found  his  true  self.  That  en- 
chanted wonder-world  which  lies  glimmering  in  the 
old  German  mdrchens,  ballads,  and  folk-lore  had  long 
beckoned  to  him  from  afar,  and  he  was  now  ready  to 
cast  aside  all  wasteful  trifling  and  obey  the  call. 
Wackenroder  had  been  the  first  to  call  his  attention 
to  those  old,  poorly-printed  Volksbilcher,  with  the 
coarse  wood-cuts,  which  had  for  centuries  been  cir- 
culating among  the  peasantry,  and  which  may  still 
be  picked  up  at  the  bookstalls  of  the  Leipsic  fairs. 
But  Tieck  was  then  deep  in  Shakespeare  and  Ben 
Jonson,  and  had  no  time  to  listen  to  nursery  tales. 
Before  long,  however,  Wackenroder  prevailed  ;  hia 
friend  began  to  look  more  favorably  upon  the  old 


338  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

legends,  and  after  the  reading  of  "  St.  Genevieve " 
and  "  The  Children  of  Heymon  "  his  enthusiasm  broke 
into  full  blaze.  Space  will  not  permit  me  to  give 
even  a  brief  outline  of  the  numerous  dramatic 
and  novelistic  adaptations  of  the  national  legends 
with  which  he  flooded  the  market  and  the  stage  dur- 
ing the  next  twenty  years.  Among  the  dramas  "  The 
Life  and  Death  of  St.  Genevieve  "  has  been  accorded 
a  foremost  place,  and  among  his  many  tales  the  pref- 
erence is  given  to  "The  Blonde  Eckbert,"  "  Tann- 
hauser,"  "The  Faithful  Eckart,"  and  "The  Eunen- 
berg,"  all  of  which  are  included  in  the  collection  of 
"  Phantasies." 

Tieck's  manner  of  treating  the  old  stories  seems  to 
depend  greatly  upon  the  mood  in  which  they  hap- 
pen to  find  him.  Sometimes,  as  in  "The  Children 
of  Heymon,"  he  strives  to  reproduce  in  himself  that 
simple  primitive  credulity  for  which  no  absurdity  is 
too  startling,  no  miracle  too  great  for  belief.  It  is 
the  mood  in  which  a  nurse  with  an  accompaniment 
of  vivid  gestures  tells  a  child  about  "  Jack  the  Giant- 
killer,"  and  "  Puss  in  Boots,"  and  it  presupposes  in 
the  child  an  uncritical  acceptance  of  the  most  in- 
credible statement.  It  was  in  the  childhood  of  na- 
tions that  these  legends  came  into  being,  and  it  is  to 
the  still  existing  reminiscences  of  the  primitive 
state  that  you  must  appeal  for  interest  in  tales  of 
this  order.  Even  the  prosiest  Philistine  has  some 
recollection  of  the  startled  wonder  and  delight  with 
which  he  once  gazed  into  the  enchanted  world  of 
the  "Arabian  Nights,"  and,  if  gently   and  skilfully 


ASPECTS   OF  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL      339 

touched,  those  tuneless  strings  may  once  more  be 
made  to  vibrate.  Tieck  was  such  a  magician,  who 
touched  the  Philistine  with  his  wand  and  awoke  the 
slumbering  echoes. 

This  primitive  method,  however,  involved  great 
self-abnegation  on  the  author's  part ;  and  just  at  this 
time  he  longed  to  give  vent  to  the  enthusiasm  which 
labored  within  him.  Thus  in  his  next  mdrchens  we 
detect  something  of  the  mood  with  which  we  have 
been  made  familiar  in  "Lovell"  and  "Abdallah;" 
the  tale  is  now  no  longer  its  own  object  and  end — it 
is  merely  the  vehicle  of  some  individual  sentiment, 
mood,  or  passion.  It  is  a  responsive  instrument, 
through  which  the  poet  may  give  utterance  to  his 
sorrow  and  yearning  and  doubt.  Most  clumsily  and 
inartistically  has  Tieck  done  this  in  his  love-story  of 
the  beautiful  Mageloue  and  the  Count  Peter  of  Pro- 
vence, where  the  hero  philosophizes  over  his  love  in 
a  feeble  lyrical  strain,  loses  himself  in  rapturous 
contemplations  of  nature,  sings  jingling  and  mean- 
ingless love-songs,  and  strikes  tragic  attitudes,  all  in 
the  latest  improved  Romantic  fashion.  Much  better 
is  the  style  of  "  The  Runenberg  "  and  "The  Blonde 
Eckbert ;  "  here  Tieck  is  trying  to  find  an  embodi- 
ment for  those  unutterable  emotions  which  are  too 
fleeting  for  words,  btit  still  are  more  or  less  con- 
sciously present  with  all  of  us.  These  "  anonymous 
feelings  of  the  soul,"  as  Novalis  calls  them,  can  be 
made  intelligible  only  by  being  brought  into  action  ; 
you  cannot  explain  them  except  by  describing  or 
producing  that  combination  of  circumstances  which 


340  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

will  arouse  them.  That  mysterious  shuddei*  which 
seizes  one  in  reading  these  apparently  harmless  tales, 
whence  does  it  arise  if  not  from  some  half-conscious 
under-current  of  our  being,  to  which  an  indefinable 
element  in  this  author  appeals  ?  And  here  we  have 
at  last  arrived  at  the  new  element  in  Tieck.  Notice, 
in  perusing  Heine's  description  of  these  miirchens, 
if  you  do  not  feel,  as  it  were,  a  faint  touch  of  that 
awe  and  mysterious  intensity  of  which  he  speaks. 
Although  of  course  the  effect  must  be  greatly  weak- 
ened in  translation,  we  are  still  conscious  that  some- 
thing of  the  mystery  remains.  "  In  these  tales  there 
reigns  a  mysterious  intensity,"  says  Heine,  "  a 
strange  intimacy  with  nature,  especially  with  plants 
and  stones.  The  reader  feels  as  if  he  were  in  an  en- 
chanted forest ;  he  listens  to  the  melodious  rush  of 
subterranean  fountains  ;  he  imagines  many  a  time 
amid  the  whispering  of  the  trees  that  he  hears  his 
own  name  called ;  the  broad-leaved  vines  often  wind 
themselves  perilously  about  his  feet ;  strange  magic 
flowers  gaze  at  him  with  their  man^'-colored,  yearn- 
ing eyes  ;  invisible  lips  kiss  his  cheeks  with  delusive 
tenderness  ;  tall  fungi  like  golden  bells  stand  ring- 
ing at  the  foot  of  the  trees  ;  large,  silent  birds  sit 
rocking  upon  the  boughs  and  nod  with  their  long, 
wise-looking  bills  ;  all  is  breathing,  listening,  shud- 
deringly  expectant;  then  suddenly  a  soft  bugle  is 
heard,  and  upon  a  white  palfrey  a  beautiful  maiden 
rushes  past  you,  with  waving  plumes  on  her  hat,  and 
a  falcon  upon  her  hand.  And  this  beautiful  maiden 
is  so  very  beautiful,  so  blond,  with  eyes  like  violets, 


ASPECTS   OF   THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL      34 1 

SO  smiling  and  still  so  grave,  so  true  and  still  so 
roguish,  so  chaste  and  yet  so  passionate,  like  the 
fancy  of  our  excellent  Ludwig  Tieck.  Yes,  his  faucy 
is  a  gracious  mediaeval  maiden  Avho  hunts  fabulous 
beasts  in  a  magic  forest  ;  hunts,  perhaps,  that  rare 
unicorn  which  can  be  caught  only  by  a  pure  virgin." 

This  is  not  criticism,  but  it  is  better  than  criti- 
cism ;  it  is  not  negatively  analj'tical,  but  conveys  by 
a  certain  happy  choice  of  adjectives  some  of  the 
more  positive  qualities  of  the  poet,  and  indeed  those 
very  qualities  which  are  surest  to  escape  analysis. 

We  fondly  believe  that  in  an  enlightened  age  like 
ours,  when  science  mercilessly  penetrates  to  the 
causes  of  everj'  cherished  mystery,  the  range  of  the 
terrible  is  gradually  reduced  to  a  mere  vanishing 
quantity  ;  but  no  amount  of  scientific  reasoning  can 
conquer  the  tremor  which  a  timid  person  feels  in  a 
dark  hall  or  in  an  empty  church  at  midnight.  The 
small  teriitory  of  clear  daylight  fact  which  we  have 
conquered  for  ourselves  is  on  all  sides  surrounded 
by  a  far  vaster  realm  of  mystery,  and  whenever  the 
gates  are  opened  to  this  realm,  our  reason  refuses  to 
do  our  bidding,  and  Ave  are  on  the  verge  of  insanity. 
Il  is  on  the  boundary  between  these  two  realms  of 
reason  and  mystery  that  Tieck  has  laid  the  scene  of  his 
fairy-tales ;  he  is  perpetually  setting  the  gates  ajar, 
and  while  we  dwell  on  situations  which  on  the  sur- 
face appear  only  grotesque  and  comical,  we  involun- 
tarily shudder.  He  knows  exactly  where  to  touch 
us  to  find  our  reason  weak  and  our  sense  of  mystery 
the  more  active.     Vulfjar   ghost-stories   he   seldom 


342  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

deals  with,  but  frequently  with  those  situations  in 
which  some  undeniably  real  but  unexplained  psy- 
chological element  overmasters  the  will  and  urges  it 
on  to  deeds  for  which  the  individual  is  hardly  him- 
self responsible.  According  to  Tieck,  the  ghost  of 
insanity  is  lurking  in  us  all,  and  the  moment  we 
become  conscious  of  its  presence,  we  are  all  already 
half-way  under  its  sway. 

Forest  solitude,  churchyards  at  midnight,  ruins 
of  convents  and  baronial  castles,  in  fact  all  the 
things  which  we  are  now  apt  to  call  romantic,  are 
the  favorite  haunts  of  Tieck's  muse.  It  is  he  and 
Lis  school  who  have  the  "doubtful  merit  of  having 
introduced  all  these  sepulchral  situations  into  litera- 
ture ;  and  the  romanticists  of  other  lands — Walter 
Scott  in  the  British  Isles,  Victor  Hugo  in  France, 
and  Ingemann  in  Denmark — have  enlarged  the  orig- 
inal repertoire  until  at  present  we  are  almost  able  to 
draw  a  distinct  line  between  that  order  of  natural 
phenomena  and  human  emotions  which  is  romantic 
and  that  which  is  not.  Tieck  was  excessively  fond 
of  moonlight,  and  literally  flooded  his  tales  with  its 
soft,  dim  splendor ;  therefore  moonlight  is  now  ro- 
mantic. He  never  allows  a  hero  to  make  a  declara- 
tion of  love  without  a  near  or  distant  accompani- 
ment of  a  bugle  (Schalmei  or  Waldhorn)  ;  accord- 
ingly, the  bugle  is  called  a  romantic  instrument. 
He  showed  a  great  preference  for  the  Middle  Ages, 
and  revived  the  interest  in  mediaeval  history  and 
literature  ;  therefore  the  Middle  Ages  are  to-rlay 
regarded   as  the  most  romantic  period  of  history, 


ASPECTS   OF  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL      343 

and  their  literature  is  par  excellence  the  romantic 
literature  ;  and  so  on  in  infinitum. 

Happily,  Tieck  wrote  his  best  tales  and  dramas 
before  A.  T.  Hoffmann,  Achim  von  Ai-nim,  and  the 
other  so-called  late  romanticists  {Spiitromantiker) 
had  yet  reduced  the  art  of  ai'ousing  sensations  of 
horror  to  a  system  and  thereby  vulgarized  it.  In 
the  productions  belonging  to  his  best  period,  at 
least,  he  refrains  from  those  violent  and  jDurely  me- 
chanical effects  which  in  these  latter  days  have 
made  the  romantic  name  synonymous  with  literary 
clap-trap  and  charlatanism  ;  and  when  men  of  Hoff- 
mann's and  Brentano's  calibre  had  brought  the 
school  into  disrepute,  he  gradually  withdrew  from 
it  and  joined  the  ranks  of  its  opponents.  This 
argues,  indeed,  a  considerable  versatihty,  but  also  a 
lack  of  that  artistic  sincerity  which  we  have  a  right 
to  expect  in  so  prominent  a  man  of  letters. 

As  a  poet  in  the  more  specific  sense  of  a  writer  of 
verse,  Tieck  holds  a  position  peculiarly  his  own 
within  the  German  literatui-e.  His  prose  writings 
are  abundantly  sprinkled  Avith  verse,  some  mere 
musical  jingle,  and  some  rare  expressions  of  rare 
moods,  deficient  in  passion,  but  charged  with  color 
and  melody.  In  fact,  at  no  time  of  his  life  does  he 
appear  to  have  harbored  strong  convictions  ;  he  had 
likes  and  dislikes,  but  his  hostility  to  one  idea  and 
his  preference  for  another  were  seldom  or  never  the 
results  of  reasoning.  In  his  verse  it  is  exceedingly 
difficult  to  lay  hold  of  a  single  definitely  expressed 
proposition  to  which  you  may  confidently  assent,  or 


344  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

which  you  may  combat.  The  rhythmical  flow  of 
words,  the  cadence  of  the  melody,  the  soothing, 
luring,  coaxing,  caressing  concord  of  sweet  sounds 
charm  the  ear  and  lull  the  reason  into  slumber.  It 
is  all  so  delicious,  so  rich,  and  soft,  3'ou  ask  nothing 
more.  Tieck  was  himself  well  aware  of  these  quali- 
ties in  his  songs,  and  like  a  genuine  romanticist  he 
immediately  established  the  doctrine  that  in  poetry 
sense  should  be  secondary  to  sound.  It  was  Wack- 
enroder  who  had  first  caught  the  musical  mania,  and 
Tieck  systematized  his  friend's  dithyrambic  utter- 
ances and  raised  them  to  the  dignity  of  doctrine. 
The  more  exalted  the  sentiment  of  a  poem  is,  the  more 
it  is  apt  to  rise  above  the  region  where  articulation  is 
possible,  and  approach  the  disembodied,  inarticulate 
sound.  Music — i.e.,  inarticulate  harmony — existed 
before  the  spoken  language,  that  is,  at  least,  Tieck's 
postulate  ;  poetry  is  a  return  to  primitive  utterance, 
and  appeals  directly  to  the  deepest  emotions,  and 
more  by  its  music  than  by  its  meaning.  Love,  the 
most  primitive  of  all  emotions,  has  hardly  any  need 
of  language. 

"  Liebe  denkt  in  siissen  Tonen, 
Denn  Gedanken  steh'n  zu  fern, 
Nur  in  Tonen  mag  sie  gem 
AUes,  was  sie  will,  versclionen. 
Drum  ist  ewig  uns  zugogen, 
Wenn  Musik  mit  Klangen  spricht, 
Ihr  die  Spraclie  nicht  gebricht, 
Holde  Lieb'  auf  alien  Wegen  ; 
Liebe  kann  sich  nicht  bewegen, 
Leihet  sie  den  Athem  nicht." 


ASPECTS   OF  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL      345 

Wackenroder,  in  the  meanwhile,  had  begun  to 
give  vent  to  the  fuhiess  of  his  heart,  not  only  di- 
rectly through  his  influence  on  his  friend,  but  also 
in  independent  productions.  In  the  summer  of 
1796  he  had  with  Tieck  made  a  pilgrimage  to  Dres- 
den, where  the  Madonnas  of  Kaphael  and  Holbein 
had  unsealed  his  lips  and  enabled  him  to  find  a  fit- 
ting expression  for  his  rapturous  worship  and  enthu- 
siasm. The  tongue  of  flame  had  descended  upon 
him,  and  he  began  to  speak  in  strange  languages. 
In  his  "Heart  Effusions  of  an  Ai-t-Loving  Friar"  (a 
most  discouraging  title)  he  gives  the  first  impetus 
to  that  extravagant  Madonna- worship  which,  in  con- 
nection "with  mediaeval  yearnings,  at  last  assumed 
the  phase  of  "  artistic  Catholicism,"  and  ended  with 
sending  more  than  half  of  the  prominent  romanti- 
cists to  the  bosom  of  the  "only  saving  Church." 
With  Wackenroder  this  Catholic  tendency  sprung 
from  a  sincere,  child-like  faith,  which  willingly  re- 
posed in  authority,  and  to  which  miracles  were  not 
only  no  stumbling-blocks,  but,  on  the  contrary,  the 
most  beautiful  and  most  natural  revelation  of  the 
divine.  But  it  will  always  remain  a  matter  of  sur- 
prise that  Tieck,  with  his  "  enlightened  "  reminis- 
cences and  his  naturally  sceptical  temperament,  could 
have  entered  with  such  vehemence  into  the  relig- 
ious ecstasies  of  his  companion.  Again,  as  in  the 
case  of  his  connection  with  Nicolai,  we  see  him  as- 
sume the  cloak  of  another,  and  wear  it  with  even 
more  grace  than  the  real  owner.  And  still  this 
ready  adaptability  on  his  part  was  not  hypocrisy  ;  it 


346  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

was  rather  tliat  sort  of  sestlietic  belief  wbicli  enthu- 
siastic men  are  very  apt  to  contract  during  some 
period  of  their  lives  ;  they  desire  so  ardently  to  be- 
lieve, that  at  length  they  persuade  themselves  that 
belief  is  theirs. 

Wackenroder's  religious  reverence,  not  only  for 
art  in  the  abstract,  but  also  for  the  individual  works 
of  art,  is  mirrored  on  every  page  of  those  of  Tieck's 
writings  which  date  back  to  this  period,  and  espe- 
cially in  the  romance  "  Sternbald's  Wanderings,"  a 
book  written  under  Wackenroder's  inspiration,  and 
as  a  tribute  to  his  and  the  author's  friendship. 
This  "Sternbald,"  with  the  subtitle  "An  Old  German 
Story,"  like  half  the  romances  of  that  day,  seems  a 
feeble  echo  of  "  Wilhelm  Meister."  In  sentiment  it  is 
as  widely  removed  from  Goethe  as  the  dim  romantic 
moonlight  is  from  the  daylight  of  pagan,  rational- 
istic Weimar.  Nevertheless  "  Sternbald  "  could  never 
have  been  if  "Meister"  had  not  been.  Who  knows 
if  (like  Novalis's"  Ofterdingen  ")  it  was  not  written  as 
a  protest  against  the  cheerful  paganism  of  Goethe  ? 

Franz  Sternbald,  a  young  German  painter  and  a 
pupil  of  Albrecht  Diirer,  starts  out  from  Nuremberg 
on  his  way  to  Italy.  While  wandering  on  he  falls 
in  with  a  great  many  people  who  invariably  sing 
a  song,  weep,  and  tell  him  their  history.  An  auto- 
biographi«al  mania  seems  to  possess  everybody  ;  no 
man  thinks  of  withholding  the  deepest  secrets  of  his 
heart  for  more  than  five  minutes ;  then  usually  a 
bugle  comes  in  very  conveniently,  and  either  the 
tale  or  the  bugle  moves  both  parties  to  tears,  where- 


ASPECTS   OF  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL      347 

upon  they  sing  another  song  and  exchange  opinions 
regarding  art,  the  one  topic  with  which  liigh  and 
low  are  famiHar,  and  touching  which  they  have  in- 
genious theories.  Everybody's  birth  is  wrapped  in 
mystery,  which  gives  a  charming  uncertainty  to  the 
family  relations  of  the  hero  and  those  of  the  poetic 
adventurers  with  whom  he  consorts.  Unfortunatelj', 
the  book  was  never  finished,  and  to  clear  up  the 
numerous  entanglements  of  kinship  the  author  is 
obliged  to  sum  up  the  unwritten  portion  in  an  epi- 
logue, in  which  he  explains  who  were  in  parental 
and  who  in  fraternal  relations,  etc.,  and  assures  the 
reader  that  in  the  end  they  were  all  happy. 

It  is  difficult  to  read  a  novel  of  the  eighteenth 
century  without  feeling  what  great  strides  we  have 
made  in  that  branch  of  writing  during  the  last 
ninety  years.  How  much  more  entertaining,  how 
much  truer,  stronger,  and  more  artistic  is  the  work 
of  those  whom  we  call  the  average  writers  of  the 
present  day,  tban  were  those  clumsily  moral  or 
lasciviously  virtuous  romances  in  which  our  slim- 
waisted  grandmothers  delighted !  In  the  course  of 
one's  reading  one  is  constantly  astonished  to  see 
what  an  amount  of  space  the  literary  histories  de- 
vote to  books  which,  if  they  had  been  written  to- 
day, would  hardly  have  been  honored  with  a  notice 
in  the  monthly  reviews.  Characterization  of  the 
kind  which  we  find  even  in  the  minor  novelists  of 
our  day  is  seldom  attempted  in  these  romantic  ex- 
travaganzas. Everybody  moves  about  as  in  a  fever- 
dream,  the  most  unheard-of  things  are  continually 


348  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

happening,  and  nobody  is  really  responsible  either 
for  himself  or  for  anybody  else.  The  fact  that  a 
man  determines  to  do  something  is  no  reason  why 
he  should  do  it ;  it  is  rather  a  reason  why  he  should 
leave  it  undone  or  do  the  very  opposite.  Human 
will  is  at  the  mere}'  of  mysterious  powers,  which 
thwart  it,  play  with  it,  and  urge  it  on  to  the  most 
arbitrary  acts.  This  is  the  tendency  in  most  of 
Tieck's  novels,  as  in  those  of  Brentano,  von  Arnim, 
Hoffmann,  and  his  other  successors.  And  even  at 
the  present  day  the  tendency  survives.  It  is  not 
many  years  since  a  legitimate  heir  of  romanticism, 
Hermann  Grimm,  published  a  two-volume  novel, 
entitled  "  Invincible  Forces,"  in  which  the  philos- 
ophy of  the  school  is  once  more  revived. 

During  the  later  years  of  his  life  Tieck  lived  in 
Dresden,  where  he  chiefly  interested  himself  in  the 
affairs  of  the  theatre.  To  quote  Heine  once  more, 
"He  who  in  his  earlier  writings  had  constantly  satir- 
ized the  court  counsellors  as  the  type  of  everything 
ridiculous  became  himself  a  royal  Saxon  court  coun- 
sellor. The  Almighty  is,  after  all,  a  greater  satirist 
than  Mr.  Tieck."  The  Napoleonic  wars  had  devas- 
tated Germany  and  reduced  it  to  a  state  of  political 
nullity  ;  therefore  public  men,  being  forbidden  to  in- 
terfere in  public  affairs,  were  obliged  to  take  refuge 
in  the  imaginary  world  of  the  stage,  where  they 
could  mould  the  destinies  of  nations  according  to 
their  sovereign  will.  And  Tieck,  like  so  many 
others,  sought  this  refuge.  The  deai'est  friends  of 
his  youth  were  dead,  and  the  school  he  had  helped 


ASPECTS   OF  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL      349 

to  found  bad  fallen  into  disrepute.  As  early  as 
1798  that  gentle  enthusiast,  Wackenroder,  had 
ended  his  pathetic  strivings  for  the  ideal,  to  con- 
tinue them  where,  perhaps,  the  ideal  no  longer 
seems  so  hopelessly  beyond  one's  reach.  Three 
years  later  his  other  bosom  friend,  Novalis,  had 
quitted  this  life  which  he  loved  so  well.  Friedricb 
Schlegel,  whose  friendship  Tieck  had  once  prized  so 
highly,  had,  after  his  many  vagaries,  married  his 
Doi'othea,  become  respectable,  conservative,  and  a 
Catholic,  and  had  established  himself  as  a  literary 
grand  inquisitor  in  Vienna.  There,  with  a  cynical 
disregard  of  his  past,  be  sued  successfully  for  Met- 
ternich's  favor,  and  lectured  in  an  ultra-reactionary 
spirit  on  "The  Philosophy  of  Life,"  "The  Philoso- 
phy of  History,"  and  "  The  Histor^^  of  Ancient  and 
Modern  Literature."  We  all  know  that  conserva- 
tism, as  a  mere  investment,  is  more  profitable  than 
radicalism,  and  if  there  was  a  time  when  the  choice 
between  prosperity  and  martyrdom  was  most  obvi- 
ously involved  in  the  political  antithesis,  it  was  in  the 
days  of  the  Holy  Alliance.  Friedricb  Schlegel,  hav- 
ing tasted  the  hardships  of  the  desert,  bad  now  a 
pardonable  longing  for  the  flesh-pots  of  Egypt. 
And  so  be  forswore  all  his  obnoxious  sentiments, 
ran  the  errands  of  the  chief  of  Em*ope's  spiritual 
police,  and  as  a  reward  for  bis  services  was  made 
Austrian  Counsellor  of  Legation,  and  bade  fair  to 
become  a  dignitary  of  the  first  water.  His  work  on 
"  The  Language  and  Wisdom  of  the  Hindoos,"  by 
which  be  virtually  made  a  science  of  comparative 


350  GERMAIN  LITERATURE 

philology  possible,  had  gained  him  a  strong  position 
among  the  savants  of  the  day.  But  just  as  he  had 
turned  the  first  bright  page  in  the  ti-agic  history  of 
his  life,  he  died  suddenly  (1829)  from  the  effects 
of  roast  goose,  and  evil  tongues  once  more  revived 
the  scandal  of  his  youth.  To  die  from  roast  goose 
— what  an  end  for  an  idealist ! 

Of  the  early  romanticists,  then,  Tieck  was  the 
only  survivor,  unless,  indeed,  Augustus  Wilhelm 
Schlegel  could  still  be  said  to  be  alive  ;  he  who, 
after  his  various  tragic  marriages  and  his  fierce  war- 
fare agaiust  the  literary  coryph(ei  of  Fi'ance,  now  lan- 
guished in  a  comfortable  professorship  at  the  Uni- 
versity of  Bonn.  This  elder  Schlegel  had,  with  his 
brother  Friedrich,  founded  The  Athenceum,  and  had, 
through  the  columns  of  that  journal,  developed  a 
great  critical  activity,  until  his  quarrel  with  Schiller 
and  Goethe,  and  his  friendship  for  Madame  de  Staiil, 
for  a  time  removed  him  from  the  romantic  arena. 
In  spite  of  all  the  obloquy,  however,  which  has  been 
heaped  upon  him  by  Heine  and  other  unscrupulous 
revilers,  his  labors  are  of  too  solid  a  character  to  be 
left  unnoticed  in  a  review  of  the  school  for  whose 
advancement  he  worked  with  such  indefatigable 
zeal.  It  is  to  him  that  the  Germans  owe  their  first 
complete  translation  of  Shakespeare  * — a  translation 
the  merit  of  which  is  not  generally  acknowledged. 
Though  not  enough  of  a  poet  to  produce  any  origi- 

*  Schlegel  translated  personally  only  seventeen  plays,  and 
merely  superintended  and  revised   the   translation  of  the 

rest. 


ASPECTS   OF  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL      35 1 

nal  work  of  real  wortb,*  he  had  still  a  sufficiently 
tuneful  ear  to  enable  him  to  appreciate  and  to  ren- 
der rhythmical  effects  with  great  nicety.  After 
having  exhausted  the  dramatic  treasures  of  English 
literature,  Schlegel  turned  to  those  of  Spain,  and 
began  an  excellent  translation  of  Calderon's  trage- 
dies. On  all  sides  he  opened  avenues  through 
which  foreign  culture  could  flow  into  the  Father- 
land. Friedrich  Schlegel  and  Tieck  had  labored  in 
the  same  direction,  and  it  is  no  vain  boast  when 
the  romantic  school  claims  the  merit  of  having 
widened  the  national  horizon  and  enabled  the  Ger- 
man scholar  of  to-day  to  approach  that  cosmopoli- 
tan type  of  manhood  which  Goethe  foreshadowed  in 
the  second  part  of  his  "  Faust."  August  Wilhelm 
Schlegel  died  as  professor  at  the  University  of  Bonn 
(1845).  His  "Lectures  on  Dramatic  Art  and  Litera- 
ture "  (1809-1811)  have  been  translated  into  many 
languages,  and,  though  not  free  from  caprices  of 
judgment,  enjoy  a  certain  authority  even  at  the 
present  day. 

Another  member  of  The  Athenceum  circle,  the 
preacher  Schleiermacher,  of  whose  personal  history 
we  have  communicated  some  fragments,  had  in  the 
year  1802  left  Berlin  and  his  Henrietta,  and  was 
seeking  consolation  in  his  Platonic  studies  for  the 
piivations  which  fate  had  inflicted  upon  him.  But 
before  retiring  to  his  rural  solitude  at  Stolpe,  he 
had  startled  the  theological  world  by  a  series  of 

*  He  was  the  author  of  a  stilted  aud  artificial  classical 
drama  named  Ion. 


352  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

literary  peiiormances  which  bore  on  their  face  the 
mark  of  romantic  origin.  His  "Discourses  on  Re- 
ligion "  (1799)  is  a  remarkable  document.  Each  dis- 
course is  clear  in  spite  of  its  abstruseness,  large  in 
its  conception,  and  in  its  spirit  broad  and  catho- 
lic. There  is  a  healthy,  warm-blooded,  and  broad- 
bi'easted  humanity  about  all  that  Schleiermacher 
writes,  and  even  if  this  were  his  only  mexit,  it  would 
still  suffice  to  make  him  a  phenomenon  among  theo- 
logians. As  sound  in  sentiment  he  will  hardly  be 
regarded  by  orthodox  or  by  freethinker.  But  if  he 
errs,  he  does  so  in  a  large,  free  fashion,  which  wins 
one's  heart  and  makes  his  eiTor  more  lovable  than 
the  same  amount  of  unquestioned  doctrine  clothed 
in  the  severe  garb  of  the  Lutheran  pulpit.  As  soon 
as  a  chapter  was  finished,  he  sent  the  manuscript  to 
Henrietta,  and  they  criticised  and  discussed  the 
contents  together. 

Schleiermacher's  religion  is  chiefly  an  aesthetic 
one.  "Humanity,"  he  says,  "is  not  the  universe; 
it  is  only  a  single  form  of  it,  an  embodiment  of  a 
single  modification  of  its  elements  ;  ...  it  is 
an  intermediate  link  between  the  individual  and 
God  \zvoi&chen  dem  Einzelnen  und  dem  Einen']  ;  a 
resting-place  on  the  way  to  the  infinite.  Man 
would  have  to  possess  some  still  higher  element 
of  character  than  his  humanity  if  he  were  to  refer 
himself  and  his  existence  directly  to  the  universe. 
This  presentiment  of  something  outside  and  above 
humanity  is  the  object  of  all  religion."  This  may, 
perhaps,  not  appear  especially  clear,  but  German 


ASPECTS   OF  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL      353 

philosophy  has  never  been  remarkable  for  lucidity 
of  expression.  In  other  passages  the  thought,  al- 
though still  abstruse,  is  more  easily  seized.  When, 
for  instance,  he  speaks  of  "  contemplation  of  the 
universe  "  as  "  the  highest  formula  of  religion,"  he 
has  thereby  felicitously  expi-essed  the  passively  aes- 
thetic nature  of  his  faith.  Morality  is  active  and 
finds  its  expression  in  the  objective  deed  ;  religion 
is  a  pious  exaltation,  a  state  of  the  mind,  and  there- 
fore subjective.  But  this  universal  contemplation 
does  not  only  include  self  and  pious  abstractions  ; 
it  embraces  all  humanity,  and,  although  in  itself 
passive,  is  actively  fostering  feelings  of  compas- 
sion, humility,  love,  gratitude,  etc.  These  religious 
feelings  must  accompany  all  the  deeds  of  man, 
"  like  sacred  music  ;  "  he  must  do  everything  with 
religion,  everything  from  religion.  Thus  in  the  end 
morality  is  not  separable  from  religion  ;  it  is,  how- 
ever, not  an  aim  and  end,  but  an  attendant  circum- 
stance. 

Schleiermacher's  object  is  to  prove  that  dogmatic 
theology  is  not  per  se  religion,  and  that  religion  in 
the  higher  and  wider  sense  is  not  only  not  at  vari- 
ance with  advanced  culture,  but  that  no  real  culture 
can  exist  without  it.  It  is  essentially  the  same  posi- 
tion which  Chateaubriand  was  to  take  in  his  "  Gouie 
du  Christiauisme "  (1802),  that  much -lauded  and 
much-abused  book  which  suddenly  made  Christian- 
ity fashionable,  and  i-econciled  France  {i.e.,  Paris)  to 
the  Napoleonic  Concordat.  The  objects  of  both 
were  identical,  but  how  different  their   methods! 


354  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

The  Gaul  undertakes  with  much  elaborate  rhetoric 
to  show  that  Christianity  is  sensuously  attractive, 
picturesque,  and  poetic.  The  Teuton  appeals  to 
the  deeper  needs  of  the  soul,  and  deduces  religion 
from  the  fact  that  man  is  so  constructed  that  he 
cannot  reach  the  full  completion  of  his  being  with- 
out it. 

Friedrich  Schlegel,  who  excelled  in  inventing 
formulas  for  everything,  had,  natui-ally  enougli,  also 
found  a  formula  for  religion.  According  to  him, 
religion  is  the  synthesis  of  art  and  philosophy  ;  the 
former  strives  to  give  an  outward  form  to  the  ob- 
jects in  accordance  with  their  inner  being,  the  lat- 
ter seeks  to  explore  their  inmost  essence  ;  the  two 
united  make  I'eligiou.  "  Keligion,"  he  says  again, 
"  is  the  all-animating  universal  soul  of  culture. 
Only  he  can  be  an  artist  who  has  a  religion  of  his 
own,  who  has  an  original  view  of  the  infinite.  .  .  . 
The  only  opposition  which  we  may  expect  to  the 
everywhere  germinating  religion  will  come  from  the 
few  real  Ghi-islians  still  remaining." 

In  shai-p  contrast  to  this,  Schleiermacher  main- 
tains that  Christianity  in  its  spirit,  independent  of 
the  dogmatic  differences  of  sects,  alone  can  satisfy 
the  cultivated  intellect  as  well  as  the  deeper,  more 
primitive  needs  of  the  human  heart.  Chateaubri- 
and had  emphatically  declared  Christianity  to  mean 
Catholicism  ;  Schleiermacher  ignoi'ed  sectarian  par- 
tisanship, and  strove  to  rise  above  the  letter,  which 
killeth,  strove  to  find  the  spirit,  which  giveth  life. 

Schlegel  very  naturally  felt  dissatisfied  with  the 


ASPECTS   OF  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL      355 

position  of  bis  friend  ;  be  felt  tbat  tbey  were  di- 
vided, and  be  expressed  in  a  sonnet  bis  judgment 
of  bis  solution  of  tbe  religious  problem  ;  Scbleier- 
macber  stands  at  tbe  door  of  a  stately  temple  of 
wondrous  beauty  ;  be  opens  tbe  door  ;  a  solemn, 
sacred  sympbony  fills  tbe  air  witb  sweet,  soul- stir- 
ring sound ;  a  curtain  is  drawn  aside,  aud  bebold, 
tbe  old  Spbnix.     Tbe  riddle  is  still  unsolved. 

And  it  may  be  well  tbat  neitber  Scbleiermacher 
nor  anyone  else  lias  as  yet  definitely  solved  tbe 
riddle.  Li  tbe  strife  and  infinite  divergence  fos- 
tered by  our  aspiration  for  trutb  lies  our  surest 
l)romise  of  spiritual  progress.  Tbe  romantic  scbool, 
tbrougb  its  various  representatives,  strove  to  re- 
claim a  nation  wbicb  was  tbougbt  to  be  drifting 
into  artistic  paganism.  Tbrougb  Tieck,  Wacken- 
roder,  and  Novalis  it  introduced  Cbristiauity  into 
literature ;  tbrougb  Scbleiermacber  it  endeavored  to 
bumanize  religion.  And  even  if  tbe  trutb  wbicb 
tbese  men  saw  was  more  tban  balf  error,  tbey  still 
labored  bravely',  and  surely  bave  not  lived  in  vain. 

Except  as  regards  its  impatience  witb  wbat  is 
called  tbe  prose  of  life  and  a  reactionary  tendency 
wbicb  exalts  tbe  past  over  tbe  present,  German  ro- 
manticism bas  few  features  in  common  witb  tbe 
group  of  autbors  wbicb  in  England  and  France  we 
ai'e  accustomed  to  style  romantic.  If  we  include 
Byron  in  tbe  scbool,  of  wbicb  Scott  is  tbe  most 
illustrious  name,  a  genei-al  cbaracterization  becomes 
still  more  difficult ;  for  Byron,  tbougb  tbere  was  a 
deposit  of  feudal  sentiment  in  bis  mind,  professed 


356  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

the  most  radical  opinions  and  posed  as  the  champion 
of  liberty.  However,  as  it  is  a  question  whether  he 
took  himself  seriously,  and,  moreover,  as  most  of 
his  sentiments  were  held  for  their  picturesqueness, 
his  refusal  to  conform  to  our  classification  need  not 
disturb  us.  As  a  radical  romanticist,  or  a  romantic 
radical,  he  is  the  solitary  instance  of  any  note  that 
English  literary  history  records.  He  had,  to  be 
sure,  imitators  in  other  lauds  who  endeavored 
to  combine  his  libertinism,  his  world-woe,  and  his 
Promethean  defiance  of  authority.  Alfred  de  Mus- 
set,  who  is  usually  regarded  as  Byron's  counter- 
part in  France,  exhibits  but  a  faint  resemblance, 
and  Pushkin  in  Russia  is  likewise  a  somewhat 
feeble  copy.  Victor  Hugo,  the  leader  of  the  French 
romanticists,  managed  also  to  combine  an  advanced 
radicalism  in  politics  with  a  literary  medisevalism, 
and  represents  a  new  modification  of  the  romantic 
physiognomy.  His  "  Notre  Dame  de  Paris "  is  a 
perfect  museum  of  mediaeval  sentiments  and  feudal 
antiquities,  while  his  "Legende  des  Siecles  "  with 
the  trumpet-note  of  prophecy  heralds  the  dawn  of  a 
new  age  that  is  already  flushing  the  horizon  of  the 
dying  century.  But  though  romanticism,  as  a  con- 
venient name,  has  been  attached  to  the  school  of 
which  he  was  the  founder,  the  national  transforma- 
tion which  the  term  undergoes  in  crossing  the  Rhine 
is  80  great  as  to  endanger  its  identity.  There  is,  as 
it  appears  to  us,  but  one  fundamental  note  which 
all  romanticism,  whether  it  be  radical  or  reactionary, 
has  in  common,  and  that  is  a  deep  disgust  with  the 


ASPECTS   OF  THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL      357 

world  as  it  is  and  a  desire  to  depict  in  literature 
something  that  is  claimed  to  be  nobler  and  better. 

The  German  romanticists,  because  they  found 
the  reality  which  surrounded  them  highly  unpoetic, 
turned  toward  the  Middle  Ages  and  believed  that 
they  had  there  found  the  lost  paradise  of  poets. 
The  French  romanticists,  being  equally  discon- 
tented with  the  present,  resolved  to  improve  it. 
Instead  of  holding  up  a  lost  ideal  for  contemplation, 
several  of  them  entered,  like  Victor  Hugo,  ujjon  a 
public  career,  protested  against  usurpation,  and  suf- 
fered exile  and  persecution  in  their  endeavors  to  re- 
mould reality  in  accordance  with  the  fervid  visions 
of  their  souls.  It  is,  after  all,  a  question  of  national 
temperament  whether  romanticism  assumes  the  form 
of  a  poetic  regret  and  passive  retrospection,  or  an 
active  revolt  against  the  hard  prose  represented  by 
kings  and  governments. 

A  further  modifying  circumstance  which  is  apt  to 
confuse  the  reader  is  the  fact  that  romanticism  not 
only  means  different  things  in  diffei'ent  countries, 
but  it  means  different  things  at  different  times,  in  ac- 
cordance with  the  school  or  tendency  with  which  it 
comes  into  collision.  In  Germany  it  was,  as  we  have 
seen,  on  the  one  hand,  the  utilitarianism  of  the  pe- 
riod and  enlightenment  which  drove  the  school  into 
an  idealism,  scorning  all  the  servile  morality  of  the 
Philistine  ;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  it  was  the  pagan 
classicism  of  Goethe  and  Schiller  which  impelled  it, 
by  the  impetus  of  opposition,  toward  patriotism, 
mediaeval  enthusiasm,  and  Catholicism. 


358  GERMAN  LITERATURE 

In  modern  times  romanticism,  typifying  a  per- 
manent tendency  of  the  human  mind,  has  been 
placed  in  opposition  to  what  is  called  realism,  and 
has  thereby  undergone  a  fresh  modification.  If 
realism  means  insistence  upon  a  life-like  art,  based 
upon  experience,  true  to  the  logic  and  beating  with 
the  pulse-beat  of  reality,  romanticism,  in  its  latest 
combative  attitude,  has  no  choice  but  to  mean 
sovereign  art,  dwelling  in  an  ideal  realm  of  fancy, 
scorning  subserviency  to  the  truth  of  life.  Such  a 
tendency  we  see  exemplified  in  the  brilliant  carica- 
ture of  Dickens,  the  lurid  and  unwholesome  fictions 
of  Wilkie  Collins,  and  the  mediaeval  heroic  juveniles 
of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson. 

But  in  making  up  the  final  account,  let  us  not 
wink  at  the  fact  that  this  perennial  quarrel  involves 
a  question  of  degree  rather  than  of  kind.  No  art  can 
reproduce  life  with  absolute  fidelity,  nor  is  it  desir- 
able that  it  should.  A  vast  deal  must  be  omitted  in 
the  novel,  which,  for  instance,  a  painter  would  be 
obliged  to  depict.  The  painter,  making  the  same 
selection  of  essentials,  would  omit  much  which  a 
photograph  would  reproduce,  and  the  photograph,  in 
its  inability  to  render  color  and  the  minutest  detail, 
would  omit  much  which  a  naturalist  would  discover. 
If  the  novelist,  in  describing  a  scene,  were  to  insist 
upon  rendering  everything,  accidentals  as  well  as  es- 
sentials, with  the  fidelity  of  a  photograph,  he  would 
produce  a  jumbled  and  meaningless  chapter  and  be 
unfaithful  because  of  over-fidelity.  But  to  the  laws 
of  life,  in  so  far  as  they  are  ascertainable — the  logic 


ASPECTS   OF   THE  ROMANTIC  SCHOOL      359 

of  its  sequence  fiiul  development — lie  must  adhere 
with  the  utmost  fidelity  that  he  can  command. 

But,  as  we  have  endeavored  to  point  out  in  the  es- 
say on  "  The  Evolution  of  the  German  Novel,"  the 
intellectual  progress  of  the  world  asserts  itself  in  a 
progressive  demand  for  verisimilitude  in  the  arts. 
The  childlike  wonder-loving  epics  and  legends  of 
the  Middle  Ages  reflected  as  truly  the  intellectual 
condition  of  the  "  cultivated  classes  "  of  the  twelfth 
and  thirteenth  centuries  as  Tolstoi,  Howells,  and 
James  represent  the  vanguard  of  culture  to-day. 
The  romantic  rear-guard  is  represented  by  the 
lovers  of  Dickens,  Scott,  Victor  Hugo,  and  Steven- 
son. There  will  always  be  those  who  pander  to 
the  crude  delight  in  marvels,  and  there  will  always 
be  people  ready  to  consume  their  Avares,  But  let 
not  these  people  fancy  that  their  delight  in  these 
modified  fairy  tales  is  an  intellectual  enjoyment 
which  argues  "  literary  tastes."  It  was  not  suspect- 
ed, even  a  hundred  years  ago,  except  in  the  most 
general  way,  how  human  fates  were  determined  by 
heredity  and  environment  ;  and  the  romances  of 
that  day  were  therefore  excusable  for  a  degree  of  ar- 
bitrariness which  in  a  novelist  of  to-day  would  be 
unpardonable.  A  higher  degree  of  fidelity,  a  deeper 
inward  truth,  as  regards  motives,  impulses,  causes, 
and  effects,  is  demanded  by  realism  ;  while  roman- 
ticism (using  nature  as  a  painter  does  his  colors,  for 
purposes  of  mixture  and  arbitrary  composition)  gives 
yet  a  tolerably  free  rein  to  fancy  and  refuses  alle- 
giance to  the  logic  of  life. 


ESSAYS 


LITERARY,  SOCIAL,  HISTORICAL, 

MUSICAL,   "BIOGRAPHICAL, 

DRAMATIC,  POLITICAL 


BY 

Stevenson 

Carlyle 

Sir  E.  Arnold 

Froude 

BlRRELL 

Gladstone 

Lang 

Henley 

Holland 

Ik  Marvel 

H.  Adams 

Matthews 

Brownell 

BOYESEN 

R.  Grant 

FiNCK 

Max  Mlller 

Lanier 

George  Moore 

T.  N.  Page 

and 

OTHERS 

Charles  Scribner's   Sons,  Publishers 
743-745  Broadway,  New  York 


'»»»»»»V LIST  OF  VOLUMES  OF 
ESSAYS  ON  LITERATURE,  ART, 
MUSIC,  ETC.,  PUBLISHED  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  743-74S 
BROAD  WA  V,  NE  W  K6'7?X/«««<««« 

HENRY  ADAMS. 

Historical  Essays.     (i2mo,  $2.00.) 

Contents  :  Primitive  Rights  of  Women — Captaine  John 
Smith  —  Harvard  College,  1 786-1 787  —  Napoleon  I.  at 
St.  Domingo — The  Bank  of  England  Restriction — The 
Declaration  of  Paris,  1861 — The  Legal  Tender  Act — The 
New  York  Gold  Conspiracy — The  Session,  1869-1870. 

"  Mr.  Adams  is  thorough  in  research,  exact  in  statement, 
judicial  in  tone,  broad  of  view,  picturesque  and  impressive  in 
description,  nervous  and  expressive  in  style.  His  character- 
izations are  terse,  pointed,  clear." — New  York  Tribune, 

SIR  EDWIN  ARNOLD.: 

Japonica,  Illustrated  by  Robert  Blum.  (Large 
8vo,  $3.00.) 

"Artistic  and  handsome.  In  theme,  style,  illustrations  and 
manufacture,  it  will  appeal  to  every  refined  taste,  presenting  a 
most  thoughtful  and  graceful  study  of  the  fascinating  people  among 
whom  the  author  spent  a  year." — Cincinnati  Enquirer. 

AUGUSTINE    BIRRELL. 

Obiter  Dicta,  First  Series.     (i6mo,  $1.00.) 

Contents  :  Carlyle — On  the  Alleged  Obscurity  of  Mr. 
Browning's  Poetry — Truth  Hunting — Actors — A  Rogue'j 
Memoirs — The  Via  Media — Falstaff. 

"  Some  admirably  written  essays,  amusing  and  brilliant.  The 
book  is  the  book  of  a  highly  cultivated  man,  with  a  real  gift  ok 
expression,  a  good  deal  of  humor,  a  happy  fancy." — Spectator. 

Obiter  Dicta,  Second  Series.    (i6mo,  $1.00.) 

Contents  :  Milton — Pope — ^Johnson — Burke — The  Muse 
of  History — Lamb — Emerson — The  Office  of  Literature- 
Worn  Out  Types — Cambridge  and  the  Poets — Book-buying. 

"Neat,  apposite,  clever,  full  of  quaint  allusions,  happy 
thoughts,  and  apt,  unfamiliar  (^Q\AX\an:s>,"— Boston  Advertiser, 


SELECTED  VOLUMES  OF  ESSA  VS.  3 

Prof.  H.  H.  BOYESEN. 

Essays  on  German  Literature.  (i2mo, 
$1.50.) 

Contents  :  The  Life  and  Works  of  Goethe — Goethe  and 
Carlyle — The  English  Estimate  of  Goethe — Some  English 
Translations  of  Goethe — Sermons  from  Goethe  (1)  The 
Problem  of  Happiness ;  (2)  The  Victims  ot  Progress — Goethe 
in  his  Relations  to  Women — The  Life  and  Works  of  Schiller 
— Evolution  of  the  German  Novel — Studies  of  the  German 
Novel — Carmen  Sylva — The  Romantic  School  in  Germany. 

W.  C.  BROWNELL. 

French  Traits.  An  Essay  in  Comparative 
Criticism.     (i2mo,  $1.50.) 

Contents  :  The  Social  Instinct — Morality — intelligence 

—  Sense    and  Sentiment — Manners — Women — The    Art 

Instinct — The  Provincial  Spirit  —  Democracy — Nev/ York 
after  Paris. 

"  These  chapters  form  a  volume  of  criticism  which  is  sympa- 
thetic, intelligent,  acute,  and  contains  a  great  amount  of  whole- 
some suggestion.  The  comparison,  alwajrs  either  implied  or 
expressed,  is  between  France  and  the  United  States." 

—Boston  Advertiser. 

THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

Lectures  on  the  History  of  Literature. 
(Now  printed  for  the  first  time.  i2mo,  $1.00. 
Copyrighted.) 

Summary  of  Contents  :  Literature  in  General — Language, 
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chylusto  Socrates — The  Romans — Middle  Ages — Christianity 
— The  Crusades — Dante — The  Spaniards — Chivalry — Cer- 
vantes— The  Germans — Luther — The  Origin,  Work  and 
Destiny  of  the  English — Shakespeare — Milton — Swift — Hume 
— Wertherism — The  French  Revolution — Goethe  and  his 
Works. 

"  Every  intelligent  American  reader  will  instantly  wish  to  read 
this  book  through,  and  many  will  say  that  it  is  the  clearest  and 
wisest  and  most  genumc  book  thit  Carlyle  ever  produced.  We 
could  have  no  work  from  his  hand  which  embodies  more  clearly 
and  emphatically  his  literary  opinions  than  his  rapid  and  graphic 
survey  of  the  great  writers  and  great  literary  epochs  of  the  world." 

— Botton  Herald. 


4  SELECTED  VOLUMES  OF  ESSAYS. 

ALICE   MORSE  EARLE. 

The  Sabbath  in  Puritan  New  England. 
(i2mo,  $1.25.) 

Contents  :  The  Church  Militant — Seating  the  Meeting — 
The  Length  of  the  Service — The  Icy  Temperature — The 
Noon-House — The  Deacon's  Office — The  Church  Music — 
Interruptions  of  the  Service — Authority  of  the  Church  and 
the  Ministers — Ordination  of  the  Ministers — The  Minister's 
Pay — etc.,  etc. 

"  She  writes  with  a  keen  sense  of  humor,  and  out  of  the  full 
stores  of  adequate  knowledge  and  plentiful  explorations  among  old 
pamphlets,  letters,  sermons,  and  that  treasury,  not  yet  run  dry  in 
New  England,  family  traditions.  The  book  is  as  sympathetic  as 
it  is  bright  and  humorous." — The  Independent, 

HENRY   T.  FINCK. 

Chopin,  and  Other  Musical  Essays.  i2mo, 
$1.50.) 

Contents:  Chopin,  the  Greatest  Genius  of  the 
Pianoforte — How  Composers  Work — Schumann  as  Mirrored 
in  his  Letters — Music  and  Morals — Italian  and  German  Vocal 
Styles — German  Opera  in  New  York. 

"  Written  from  abundant  knowledge  ;  enlivened  by  anecdote 
and  touches  of  enthusiasm,  suggestive,  stimulating." — Boston 
Post. 

JAMES  ANTHONY  FROUDE. 

The  Spanish  Story  of  the  Armada,  and 
other  Essays,  Historical  and  Descriptive. 
(i2mo.     In  Press!) 

Contents  :  The  Spanish  Story  of  the  Armada — Antonio 
Perez  :  An  Unresolved  Historical  Riddle — Saint  Teresa — 
The  Templars — The  Norway  Fjords — Norway  Once  More. 

Short  Studies  on  Great  Subjects.  (Half 
leather,  i2mo,  4  vols.,  each  $1.50.) 

CONTENTS : 

Vol.  I,     The  Science  of  History — Times  of  Erasmus  and 

Luther — The  Influence  of  the  Reformation  on  the  Scottish 

Character — The  Philosophy  of  Catholicism — A  Plea  for  the 

Free  Discussion  of  Theological  Difficulties — Criticism  and  the 


SELECTED   VOLUMES  OF  ESSAYS.  5 

Gospel  History — The  Book  of  Job — Spinoza — The  Dissolu- 
Gospel  History — The  Book  of  Job — Spinoza — The  Dissolu- 
tion of  Monasteries — England's  Forgotten  Worthies — Homer 
— The  Lives  of  the  Saints — Representative  Man — Reynard 
the  Fox — The  Cat's  Pilgrimage — Fables — Parable  of  the 
Bread-fruit  Tree — Compensation. 

Vol.  II.  Calvinism — A  Bishop  of  the  Twelfth  Century 
— Father  Newman  on  "The  Grammar  of  Assent" — Con- 
ditions and  Prospects  of  Protestantism — England  and  Her 
Colonies — A  Fortnight  in  Kerry— Reciprocal  Duties  in  State 
and  Subject — The  Merchant  and  His  Wife — On  Progress — 
The  Colonies  Once  More — Education — England's  War — 
The  Eastern  Question — Scientific  Method  Applied  to  History. 

Vol.  111.  Annals  of  an  English  Abbey — Revival  of 
Romanism — Sea  Studies — Society  in  Italy  in  the  Last  Days 
of  the  Roman  Republic — Lucian — Divus  Caesar — On  the 
Uses  of  a  Landed  Gentry — Party  Politics — Leaves  from  a 
South  African  Journal. 

Vol.  IV.  The  Oxford  Counter — Reformation — Life  and 
Times  of  Thomas  Becket — Origen  and  Celsus— A  Cagliostro 
of  the  Second  Century — Cheneys  and  the  House  of  Russell 
— A  Siding  at  a  Railway  Station. 

"All  the  papers  here  collected  are  marked  by  the  qualities 
which  have  made  Mr.  Froude  the  most  popular  of  living 
English  historians — by  skill  in  argumentative  and  rhetorical  ex- 
position, by  felicities  of  diction,  by  contagious  earnestness,  and  by 
the  rare  power  of  fusing  the  results  of  research  in  the  imagination 
SO  as  to  produce  a  picture  of  the  past  at  once  exact  and  vivid." 

—N.  Y.  Sun. 


WILLIAM    EWART    GLADSTONE. 

Gleanings  of  Past  Years,  1843- 1879.  (7 
vols.,  i6mo,  each  $1.00.) 

Contents  :  Vol.  1.,  The  Throne  and  the  Prince  Consort. 
The  Cabinet  and  Constitution — Vol.  II.,  Personal  and 
Literary — Vol.  III.,  Historical  and  Speculative — Vol.  IV., 
Foreign — Vol.  V.  and  VI.,  Ecclesiastical — Vol.  VII.,  Miscel- 
laneous. 

"  Not  only  do  these  essays  cover  a  long  period  of  time,  they 
also  exhibit  a  very  wide  range  of  intellectual  effort.  Perhaps  their 
most  striking  feature  is  the  breadth  of  genuine  intellectual  sym* 
pathy,  of  which  they  afford  such  abundant  evidence,"— A'a/zVw. 


6  SELECTED  VOL  UMES  OF  ESSA  YS. 

ROBERT  GRANT. 

The  Reflections  of  a  Married  Man.  (i2mo, 
cloth,  $i,oo;  paper,  50  cents. 

A  delicious  vein  of  humor  runs  through  this  new  book  by 
the  author  of  "The  Confessions  of  a  Frivolous  Girl,"  who 
takes  the  reader  into  his  confidence  and  gives  a  picture  of 
married  life  that  is  as  bright  and  entertaining  as  it  is  amusing. 
The  experiences  described  are  so  typical,  that  it  is  singular 
that  they  have  never  got  into  print  before. 

E.  J.   HARDY. 

The  Business  of  Life  :  A  Book  for  Everyone. 
— How  TO  be  Happy  Though  Married:  Being 
a  Handbook  to  Marriage — The  Five  Talents  of 
Woman  :  A  Book  for  Girls  and  Women — 
Manners  Makyth  Man.     (Each,  i2mo,  $1.25.) 

"The  author  has  a  l.irge  store  of  apposite  quotations  and 
anecdotes  from  which  he  draws  with  a  lavish  hand,  and  he  has  the 
art  of  brightening  his  pages  with  a  constant  play  of  humor  that 
makes  what  he  says  uniformly  entertaining," — Boston  Advertiser . 

W.  E.  HENLEY. 

Views  and  Reviews.  Essays  in  Appreciation : 
Literature.     (i2mo,  $1.00,) 

Contents  :  Dickens — Thackeray — Disraeli  —  Dumas — ■ 
Meredith  —  Byron  —  Hugo  —  Heine — Arnold  —  Rabelais  — 
Shakespeare  — Sidney — Walton  — Banville — Berlioz  — Long- 
fellow— Balzac — Hood — Lever — Congreve — Tolstoi — Field- 
ing, etc.,  etc. 

"  Interesting,  original,  keen  and  felicitous.  His  criticism  will 
be  found  suggestive,  cultivated,  independent," — A^,  Y.  Tribune. 

J.  G.  HOLLAND. 

Titcomb's  Letters  to  Young  People,  Single 
and  Married — Gold-Foil,  Hammered  from 
Popular  Proverbs — Lessons  in  Life:  A  Series 
of  Familiar  Essays — Concerning  the  Jones 
Family — Plain  Talks  on  Familiar  Subjects — 


SELECTED   VOLUMES  OF  ESSAYS.         7 

Every-Day  Topics,  First  Series,  Second  Series. 
(Each,  small  i2mo,  $1.25.) 

"  Dr.  Holland  will  always  find  a  congenial  audience  in  the 
homes  of  culture  and  refinement.  He  does  not  affect  the  play  of 
the  darker  and  fiercer  passions,  but  delights  in  the  sweet  images 
that  cluster  around  the  domestic  hearth.  He  cherishes  a  strong 
fellow-feeling  with  the  pure  and  tranquil  life  in  the  modest  social 
circles  of  the  American  people,  and  has  thu-:  won  his  way  to  the 
companionship  of  many  friendly  hearts." — N,  V,  Tribune, 

WILLIAM    RALPH    INGE. 

Society  in  Rome  under  the  C/^sars.     (i^mo, 

"  Every  page  is  brimful  of  interest.  The  pictures  of  life  in 
Rome  under  the  Caesars  are  graphic  and  thoroughly  intelligible." 

—  Chicago  Herald, 

ANURE^N    LANG. 

Essays  in  Little.      (Portrait,  i2mo,  $1.00.) 

Contents  :  Alexandre  Dumas — Mr.  Stevenson's  Works 
— Thomas  Hayncs  Bayly — Tlieodore  de  Banviiie — Homer 
and  the  Study  of  Greek — The  Last  Fashionable  Novel — 
Thackeray — Dickens — Adventures  of  Buccaneers — The  Sagas 
— Kingsley — Lever — Poems  of  Sir  Walter  Scott — Bunyan — 
Letter  to  a  Young  Journalist — Kipling's  Stories. 

"One  of  the  most  entertaining  and  bracing  of  booVs.  It  ought 
to  win  every  vote  and  please  every  class  of  readers." 

—Spectator  (London). 

Letters  TO  Dead  Authors.     (i6mo,  $1.00.) 

Letters  to  Thackeray  —  Dickens  —  Herodotus  —  Pope  — ^ 
Rabelais — Jane  Austen — Isaak  Walton — Dumas — Theocritus 
— Poe — Scott — Shelley — Molierc — Burns,  etc.,  etc. 

"The  book  is  one  of  the  luxuries  of  the  literary  taste.  It  is  meant 
for  the  exquisite  palate,  and  is  prepared  by  one  of  the  '  knowing' 
kind.     It  is  an  astonishing  little  volume."— A*".  Y,  Evening  Post. 

SIDNEY   LANIER. 

The  English  Novel  and  the  Principle  of 
ITS  Development.     (Crown  8vo,  $2.00.) 

"  The  critical  and  analytical  portions  of  his  work  are  always 
in  high  key,  suggestive,  brillbnt,  rather  dogmatic  and  not  free 
from  ciprice.  .  .  But  when  all  these  abatements  are  made,  the 
lectures  remain  lofty  in  tone  and  full  of  original  inspiration." 

— Independent. 


8  SELECTED  VOLUMES  OF  ESSAYS, 

The  Science  of  English  Verse.  (Crown,  8vo, 
$2.00.) 

"  It  contains  much  sound  practical  advice  to  the  makers  of 
verse.  The  work  shows  extensive  reading  and  a  refined  taste 
both  in  poetry  and  in  music." — Nation, 

BRANDER    MATTHEWS. 

French  Dramatists  of  the  19TH  Century 
(New  Edition,  8vo,  $1.50.) 

Contents:  Chronology  —  The  Romantic  Movement  — 
Hugo  —  Dumas  —  Scribe — Augier — Dumas  fits — Sardou — 
Feuillet  —  Labiche  —  Meilhac  and  Halevy  —  Zola  and  the 
Tendencies  of  French  Drama — A  Ten  Years'  Retrospect : 
1881-1891. 

"  Mr.  Matthews  writes  with  authority  of  the  French  stage. 
Probably  no  other  writer  of  English  has  a  larger  acquaintance 
with  the  subject  than  he.  His  style  is  easy  and  graceful,  and  the 
book  is  delightful  reading."— TV.  V.  Times. 

The  Theatres  of  Paris.  (Illustrated,  i6mo, 
$1.25.)  . 

"An  interesting,  gossipy,  yet  instructive  little  book." 

— Academy  (London). 

DONALD  G.  MITCHELL. 

English  Lands,  Letters  and  Kings.  Vol.  L, 
From  Celt  to  Tudor.  Vol.  II.,  From  Elizabeth 
to  Anne.     (Each,  i2mo,  $1.50.) 

"Crisp,  sparkling,  delicate,  these  brief  talks  about  authors, 
great  and  small,  about  kings  and  queens,  schoolmasters  and 
people,  whet  the  taste  for  more.  In  '  Ik  Marvel's  '  racy,  sweet, 
delightful  prose,  we  see  the  benefits  of  English  literature  assimi« 
lated." — Literary  World. 

Reveries  of  a  Bachelor  ;  or,  A  Book  of  the 
Heart — Dream  Life  :  A  Fable  of  the  Seasons. 
(Cameo  Edition,  each,  with  etching,  i6mo, 
$1.25.) 

"Beautiful  examples  of  the  art  [of  book  makmg].  The  vein 
of  sentiment  in  the  text  is  one  of  which  youth  never  tires." 

—  The  Nation, 

Seven  Stories  with  Basement  and  Attic — 
Wet  Days  at  Edgewood,  with  Old  Farmers, 
Old    Gardeners    and    Old    Pastorals — Bound 


SELECTED   VOLUMES  OF  ESSAYS.  9 

Together,  A  Sheaf  of  Papers — Out-of-Town 
Palaces,  with  Hints  for  their  Improvement — 
My  Farm  of  Edgewood,  A  Country  Book. 
(Each,    i2mo,  $1.25.) 

"No  American  writer  since  the  days  of  Washington  Irving 
uses  the  English  language  as  does  '  Ik  Marvel.'  His  books  are 
as  natural  as  spring  flowers,  and  as  refreshing  as  summer  rains." 

— Boston  Transcript, 

GEORGE    MOORE. 

Impressions  and  Opinions.     (i2mo,  $1.25.) 

Contents  :  Balzac  —  Turgueneff — ' '  Le  Reve  "  —  Two 
Unknown  Poets — An  Actress  of  the  i8th  Century — Mummer 
Worship — Our  Dramatists  and  their  Literature — Note  on 
"Ghosts" — On  the  Necessity  of  a  Theatre  Libre — Meissonier 
and  the  Salon  Julian — Art  for  the  Villa — Degas,  etc.,  etc. 

"Both  instructive  and  entertaining  .  .  .  still  more  interest- 
ing is  the  problem  of  an  English  Thtatre  Libre,  oi  which  Mr. 
Moore  is  an  ingenious  advocate.  The  four  concluding  essays, 
which  treat  of   art  and  artists,  are  all   excellent." 

—Saturday  Keview  (London). 

F.   MAX    MULLER. 

Chips  from  a  German  Workshop.  Vol.  I., 
Essays  on  the  Science  of  Religion — Vol.  II., 
Essays  on  Mythology,  Traditions  and  Customs 
— Vol.  HI.,  Essays  on  Literature,  Biographies 
and  Antiquities — Vol.  IV.,  Comparative  Phi- 
lology, Mythology,  etc. — Vol.V.,  On  Freedom, 
etc.     (5  vols.,  each,  crown  8vo,  $2.00.) 

"  These  books  afford  no  end  of  interesting  extracts  ;  '  chips '  by 
the  cord,  that  are  full  both  to  the  intellect  and  the  imagination  ; 
but  we  must  refer  the  curious  reader  to  the  volumes  themselves. 
He  will  find  in  them  a  body  of  combined  entertainment  and  in- 
struction such  as  has  hardly  ever  been  brought  together  in  so 
compact  a  form,"— M  Y.  Evening  Post. 

Biographical  Essays.*  (Crown  8vo,  $2.00.) 

Contents:  RSmmohun  Rov — Keshub  Chunder  Sen — 
Dayananda  Sarasvati — Bunyiu  Nanjio — Kenjiu  Kasawara — 
Mohl — Kingsley. 

"Max  Miiller  is  the  leading  authority  of  the  world  in  Hindoo 
literature,  and  his  volume  on  Oriental  reformers  will  be  acceptable 
to  scholars  and  literary  people  of  all  classes." — Chicago  Tritutu. 


lo        SELECTED   VOLUMES  OF  ESSAYS. 

THOMAS   NELSON    PAGE. 

The  Old  South,  Essays  Social  and  Political. 
(i2mo.     In  Press.) 

Contents  :  The  Old  South — Authorship  in  the  South 
before  the  War — Life  in  Colonial  Virginia — Social  Life  in  the 
South  before  the  War — Old  Yorktown — The  Old  Virginia 
Lawyer — The  South's  Need  of  a  History — The  Negro 
Question. 

These  essays  reveal  a  new  and  charming  side  of  Mr. 
Page's  versatility.  He  knows  his  Virginia  as  Lowell  knew 
his  New  England. 

AUSTIN   PHELPS,  D.D. 

My  Note-Book  :  Fragmentary  Studies  in 
Theology  and  Subjects  Adjacent  Thereto  (i2mo, 
$1.50) — Men  and  Books;  or,  Studies  in  Homi- 
letics  (8vo,  $2.00) — My  Portfolio  ( 1 2mo,  $  i .  50) 
— My  Study,  and  Other  Essays  (i2mo,  $1.50). 

"  His  gre.1t  and  varied  learning,  his  wide  outlook,  his  profound 
sympathy  with  concrete  men  and  women,  the  lucidity  and  beauty 
of  his  style,  and  the  fertility  of  his  thought,  will  secure  for  him  a 
plaqe  among  the  great  men  of  American  Congregationalism." 

—N.  V,  Tribune. 

NOAH    PORTER,  LL.D. 

Books  and  Reading.     (Crown  8vo,  $2.00). 

"It  is  distinguished  by  all  the  rare  acumen,  discriminating 
taste  and  extensive  literary  knowledge  of  the  author.  The  chief 
departments  of  literature  are  reviewed  in  detail." — N.  V,  Times, 

PHILIP  SCHAFF,  D.D. 

Literature  and  Poetry.  (With  portrait, 
8vo,  $3.00.) 

Contents  :  Studies  on  the*  English  Language — The  Poetry 
of  the  Bible — Dies  Irae — Stabat  Mater — Hymns  of  St.  Bernard 
— The  University,  Ancient  and  Modern — Dante  Alighieri, 
The  Divtna  Commedia. 

"There  is  a  great  amount  of  erudition  in  the  collection,  but 
^  the  style  is  jo  simple  and  direct  that  the  reader  does  not  realize 
that  he  is  following  the  travels  of  a  close  scholar  through  many 
learned  volumes  in  many  different  languages." — Chautauquan. 


SELECTED  VOLUMES  OF  ESS  A  YS.        ii 

EDMOND  SCHERER. 

Essays  on  English  Literature,  (With 
Portrait,  i2mo,  $1.50.) 

Contents  :  George  Eliot  (three  essays) — ^J.  S.  Mill — 
Shakespeare — Taine's  History  of  English  Literature — Shakes- 
peare and  Criticism — Milton  and  "  Paradise  Lost " — Laurence 
Sterne,  or  the  Humorist  —  Wordsworth  —  Carlyle  — 
"  Endymion." 

"  M.  Scherer  had  a  number  of  great  qualities,  mental  and  moral 
which  rendered  him  a  critic  of  Enghsh  literature,  in  particular, 
whose  views  and  opinions  have  not  only  novelty  and  freshness, 
but  illumination  and  instruction  for  English  readers,  accustomed 
to  conventional  estimates  from  the  English  stand-point." 

— Literary  World, 

WILLIAM   G.  T.  SHEDD,  D.D. 

Literary  Essays.     (8vo,  $2.50.) 

"They  bear  the  marks  of  the  author's  scholarship,  dignity  and 
polish  of  style,  and  profound  and  severe  convictions  of  truth  and 
righteousness  as  the  basis  of   culture    as    well  as    character." 

— Chicago  Interior, 

ROBERT  LOUIS  STEVENSON. 

Across  the  Plains,  with  Other  Essays  and 
Memories.     (i2mo,  $1.25.) 

Contents  :  Across  the  Plains  :  Leaves  from  the  Note- 
book of  an  Emigrant  between  New  York  and  San  Francisco — 
The  Old  Pacific  Capital— Fontainebleau  :  Village  Commu- 
nities of  Painters — Epilogue  to  an  Inland  Voyage — Contri- 
bution to  the  History  of  Life — Education  of  an  Engineer — 
The  Lantern  Bearers — Dreams — Beggars — Letter  to  a  Young 
Man  proposing  to  Embrace  a  Literary  Life — A  Christmas 
Sermon. 

Memories  and  Portraits.     (i2mo,  $1.00.) 

Contents  :  Some  College  Memories — A  College  Magazine 
—An  Old  Scotch  Gardener — Memoirs  of  an  Islet — Thomas 
Stevenson — Talk  and  Talkers — The  Character  of  Dogs — A 
Gossip  on  a  Novel  of  Dumas — A  Gossip  on  Romance — A 
Humble  Remonstrance. 


12        SELECTED  VOLUMES  OF  ESSAYS. 

ViRGiNiBUS  PuERisQUE,  and  Other  Papers. 
(i2mo,  $i.cx).) 

Contents  :  Virginibus  Puerisque  —  Crabbed  Age  and 
Youth — An  Apology  for  Idlers— Ordered  South — Aes  Triplex 
— El  Dorado — The  English  Admirals — Some  Portraits  by 
Raeburn — Child's  Play — Walking  Tours — Pan's  Pipes— A 
Plea  for  Gas  Lamps. 

Familiar  Studies  of  Men  and  Books.  (i2mo, 
$1.25.) 

Contents  :  Victor  Hugo's  Romances — Some  Aspects  of 
Robert  Burns — Walt  Whitman — Henry  David  Thoreau — 
Yoshida-Thorajiro— Francois  Villon — Charles  of  Orleans- 
Samuel  Pepys — John  Knox  and  Women. 

"If  there  are  among  our  readers  any  lover  of  good  books  to 
whom  Mr.  Stevenson  is  still  a  stranger,  we  may  advise  them  to 
make  his  acquaintance  through  eitherof  these  collections  of  essays. 
The  papers  are  full  of  the  rare  individual  charm  which  gives  a 
distinction  to  the  lighest  products  of  his  art  and  fancy.  He  is  a 
notable  writer  of  good  English,  who  combines  in  a  mmner 
altogether  his  own  the  flexibility,  freedom,  quickness  and  sug- 
gestiveness  of  contemporary  fashions  with  a  grace,  dignity,  and 
high-breeding  that  belong  rather  to  the  past," — N,  Y,  Tribune. 

HENRY  VAN   DYKE,   D.D. 

The  Poetry  of  Tennyson.  {New  and  En- 
larged Edition.     With  Portrait,    12 mo,  $2,00.) 

Contents:  Tennyson's  First  Flight — The  Palace  of  Art : 
Milton  and  Tennyson — Two  Splendid  Failures — The  Idylls 
of  the  King — The  Historic  Triology — The  Bible  in  Tennyson 
— Fruit  from  an  Old  Tree — On  the  Study  of  Tennyson — 
Chronology — List  of  Biblical  Quotations. 

"The  two  new  chapters  and  theadditional  chronological  matter 
have  greatly  enriched  the  work." — T.  B.  Aldrich. 

o-^^i^mmmmim^m^«^  the  foregoing  volumes  op 

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BY  THE  PUBLISHERS.  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS. 
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